Whither Thou Goest
by MaverickLover2
Summary: The opportunity to make a fortune and work with Pinkerton's top agent, Ginny Malone, is too much for the Maverick Brothers to pass up. What happens next is the question. Have they finally bitten off more than they can chew?
1. A Refresher Course

Prologue – A Refresher Course

"What do they do for a living?"

I almost told him what Bret Maverick had explained to me. "As little as humanly possible." Instead I blurted out, "They're gamblers."

"Cardsharps?"

I shook my head. "Con men and cheats, you mean, don't you? No, they're honest poker players."

His expression had changed to one of skepticism. "Are they any good?"

"Some of the very best, from what I've heard."

"That would be the perfect cover, you know."

"I'm not sure there's enough money in the world to persuade them to work for us." The look on Arthur's face turned dark. "I don't mean Pinkerton. I mean WORK."

"Ah." It had never occurred to him that someone might not want to work for a living. "Not even for a hefty fee? Say, ten thousand dollars or so?"

"I – I can ask," I stuttered.

"Do that, would you? Oh, and you'd be with them, Malone. Matter of fact, the plan would be for you to pose as one of their wives. They're not married, are they?"

"Uh . . . no. I don't think so."

"Well, see, that's ideal. It could take as long as a month to resolve. If it lasts that long, I could go to fifteen thousand."

"Arthur, where is that kind of money coming from?"

"There's a wealthy businessman in St. Louis that's having a problem with his employees gambling away their wages in illegal gaming rooms. He's afraid that one of them will get deeply into debt and sell his prized secret formulas out from under him. He's trying to build a beer empire. His name's Adolphus Busch, and he's attempting to get Pinkerton to take the case."

"Really."

"Would I lie to you, Malone? If you can talk them into it, there'd be a handsome bonus in it for you. And a wardrobe allowance, of course."

"Wardrobe allowance?" That was unheard of at Pinkerton.

"Yes, of course. You'd have to go in there dressed like a wealthy lady. Not your usual get-up."

My usual what? So, I went to see Bret and Bart Maverick, who were staying at the Denver Palace Hotel. Bart told me they always stayed there when in Denver, and I believed him. Practically every employee at the hotel knew them and their preferences. Bret drank nothing but black coffee; Bart had an occasional glass of wine with dinner. Bret could out-eat almost any man I'd ever met; Bart's appetite was about the same as mine. They were both fastidiously dressed and always clean and well-groomed; that meant an unheard of amount of baths drawn for the two of them. And every single employee at the hotel acted like they were truly thrilled to do anything the Maverick boys asked.

"What's this Stansbury fella like?" Bret asked.

"Arthur is . . . not quite like anybody else I've ever met. Opinionated, prickly, difficult to deal with if he doesn't like you, acerbic, and overbearing. And he'd die defending you if you're one of his people."

Bret looked at Bart. "Sounds like Pappy."

Bart looked back at his brother. "Don't it, though?"

"When do we leave?" Bret asked.

"And whose wife are you gonna be?" Bart finished.

XXXXXXXX

A month after Arthur Stansbury first proposed the undercover assignment in St. Louis to the Maverick brothers and me, we were all on our way to Missouri to meet with Adolphus Busch. Traveling by stagecoach and then train was odd enough as it was, but to be in a dress felt totally out-of-character to me. About as out of character as the solid gold band on the third finger of my left hand. It had been decided by Arthur that I would probably make a more suitable wife for Bret than Bart, and he felt as odd as I did about the wedding ring. He wore one, too, and played with it constantly.

Arthur had mentioned a clothing allowance when he'd explained the assignment, but I had no idea it would be quite so extravagant. Not that either my new 'husband' or 'brother-in-law' needed it. They might not be rich, but they certainly dressed as if they were. Silk waistcoats and more suits than I had ever seen any one man own, they dressed the part of the very successful gamblers all on their own.

Nothing but the best, as if they lived that way every day of their lives. Of course we all had to look like that if we were going to worm our way into the inner circle of the illegal gambling operations plaguing the brewery employees. This was not going to be an easy task, nor one that could occur overnight. But it might be one that I could enjoy. Especially the 'wifely' part of the assignment. It would give me a chance to get to know Bret better. There was something there . . . he was tall, dark, and handsome, that's for sure. But there was something underneath all that. A sense of sadness, melancholy almost. And a sneakily creative mind.

And Bart. I dare anyone not to fall in love with Bart Maverick. Funny, bright, a real knight-in-shining-armor type. And every bit as good-looking as his brother in a lighter sort of way.

Why do I think I'm gonna have my hands full?


	2. Meet Me in St Louis

Chapter 1 – Meet Me in St. Louis

The train pulled into the station in St. Louis, only slightly late. Three of the passengers disembarking might have been noticed in any other city or town but in St. Louis they were just three more slightly elegant arrivals. Both of the men were tall and good-looking, and there was enough of a resemblance to indicate a close blood relationship. Not far enough apart in age to be father and son, they looked more like older and younger brothers. The tallest was dark, with black hair and eyes almost the same color; the younger had chestnut brown hair and eyes that danced in the lights. Dressed in dark frock coats and black waistcoats, one wore charcoal gray pants, the other burnished gold. Neither carried any visible weapons.

The woman that accompanied the older of the brothers was a show-stopper, to say the least. Almost as tall as the younger brother, she was truly one of God's finest creations. She had flame-red hair, piled high on her head, with blue eyes the color of the sky on a clear day. Wearing a midnight blue dress that left little to the imagination, there was no doubting that this woman was every inch a well-educated, classically trained lady.

Their bags were gathered by a porter and loaded into a private carriage. Anyone watching them assumed they were headed for the Union Plaza or the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, the upper crust of society lodging in St. Louis. The Union Plaza is where the luggage went; the three people headed for the private offices of one Adolphus Busch. The elegant looking gentlemen were, in fact, Bret and Bart Maverick, professional gamblers, and the beautiful creature posing as the wife of the oldest was Ginny Malone, top Western-Regional Agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

Busch Brewing Company had a major problem on its hands, and Adolph Busch knew it. He'd finally offered enough incentive to Pinkerton to take the case, and the three people on their way to his office were his best hope for not losing his beloved brewing company. St. Louis, home of more saloons than one knew what to do with, as well as riverboats that continuously provided another source of gambling establishment, had become the stronghold for a new type of gambling obsession – backroom, illegal gaming – primarily clandestine poker games. It was only a matter of time before someone in the company that had access to the beer's formulas for brewing the liquid gold fell under the spell of one or more of the unscrupulous con men or card sharps that held sway in the nighttime poker games. And someone would sell the Busch Company secret formulas to get out from under a staggering debt. Malone and the Mavericks were Adolphus Busch's best hope of preventing that from happening.

As far as Busch knew, all three were agents for Pinkerton. He had no clue that the Maverick Brothers were two of the best poker players in the western United States, and it was sheer luck that they'd come to the aid of Malone when she needed them most. It was the promise of a rather large payday and the chance for an adventure involving the woman Bart called 'Beauty,' that had brought the three of them to this time and place.

And they were all eager to get started.


	3. We're Off to See the Wizard

Chapter 2 – We're Off to See the Wizard

"I . . . hate . . . this . . . dress!" That statement might have been uttered under her breath, but Ginny Malone put as much venom into the words as she possibly could.

"I know exactly how you feel," Bret Maverick replied as he twisted the wedding band he was now wearing on his ring finger. The dress and the ring were both props needed to assist the illusion that the two were husband and wife, and not permanent and temporary employees of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

Bart Maverick, younger brother of the new 'groom,' chuckled as softly as he dared. "You look gorgeous in that dress, Beauty," he told Agent Malone, using the term of affection he'd come to apply to her. "And the ring, Brother Bret, looks quite stylish. Although it should be through your nose." Unconsciously he twisted his own pinky ring, the one he'd acquired during his brief marriage to his long deceased wife.

Bret grimaced, then forced himself to smile, since the porter from the train was looking their way as he gathered their bags. "Payback, Brother Bart. Payback."

"I am absolutely going to enjoy this trip," Bart added before grinning himself. He was getting ready to say something else when the porter interrupted.

" 'Scuse me, Mr. Maverick, you say you goin' to the Union Plaza Hotel?"

"That's right. Take good care of those, my wife just went on another shopping spree." He turned and looked at Ginny before offering his arm to escort her to the carriage that awaited them. "My dear," and he patted her hand as she folded it over his arm.

"Just wait till I get you alone," she smiled through clenched teeth.

"I'm looking forward to it."

All three climbed inside, and the carriage headed for downtown St. Louis and the hotel. The porter shook his head and turned to a man standing beside him. "Mmm, mmm, mmm. Some men have all the luck, don't they?"

"I'm not sure I've ever seen a more handsome pair," the second man remarked as he made note of the destination where the carriage was headed.

Inside the coach Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "How do women wear these things all day long?" she asked in obvious discomfort.

Even Bret laughed at that one. "You're asking the wrong person," he told her.

"Do I have to stay dressed like this until we meet Adolphus Busch?"

Bart nodded, much to Ginny's displeasure. "Beauty, I hate to tell you this, but you have to stay dressed like that until you and your husband retire for the night."

The Pinkerton Agent sighed again. "I know. I'm just frustrated. I'll get over it."

"If it's any comfort, you look spectacular," Bret told her.

"It's not, but thanks anyway." She looked out the window of the carriage. "I can't believe how much this city has grown since the first time I was here. Must be five or six new saloons just in the little stretch of land we've passed since the train station."

"That's what doesn't make sense to me," Bret remarked. "With all the saloons and riverboats available for gamblin', why is there even a market for illegal gamin'?"

"Didn't Arthur tell you what Busch's problem is?"

Bret shook his head. "He didn't tell me, that's for sure."

"No, he told me. Adolphus Busch makes his employees sign an agreement that they won't gamble when they go to work for him. He didn't want to take chances that his people could get so deep in debt that they'd sell his formula out from under him. By tryin' to think ahead, he caused his own problems," Bart explained.

"Then why doesn't he just stop makin' 'em sign the agreement? He'd settle the issue right away," Bret proposed. It seemed like a reasonable enough argument.

"Because he's German, Lutheran, and strictly anti-gamblin'. He won't change no matter what. He's not gonna hire anybody that won't agree to stay away from the poker tables."

"And he doesn't know we're not full-time Pinkerton agents?" Bret asked.

"Nope. He never asked, Arthur never volunteered," came from Ginny just as the carriage pulled up in front of the Union Plaza Hotel. The bags were unloaded and the coach drove away towards the Busch offices with its three passengers still on board. Across the street from the hotel entrance a small, dark man with a pad of paper made note of the arrival time of the carriage, the number of bags unloaded, and the fact that the occupants departed from the hotel within ten minutes of their arrival.

XXXXXXXX

"Three of them, eh, Richmond? That's all that Stansbury could send?"

"I understand that the woman is his best agent, Mr. Busch."

"Is that so? And what about the two men?"

"Brothers, sir. Just decimated Charlie Daggett's gang and stopped him from escaping on his way to Federal prison in Denver. Working with the woman, sir."

"Hmmm. If they're his three best, maybe that's all we need. They'll be here this afternoon, Richmond?"

"Yes, sir. If the train is on time they should be here within the hour."

"Damn it, Richmond, when have you ever known a train to be on time?"

The thin, gray-haired butler chuckled, as was expected of him. "Too true, Mr. Busch. Still, there's always a first time."

A knock at the heavy oak door interrupted the repartee. A maid stood on the other side and whispered something in Richmond's ear before turning and scurrying away. "Well, sir, it appears the first time has arrived. Agent's Malone and Maverick are here and are waiting in your outer office."

"Very good, Richmond, show them in. And send Hilda in with tea and coffee, please."

"Yes, sir. Anything else, Mr. Busch?"

"That's all for now, Richmond, thank you."

"Yes, sir."


	4. Touche

Chapter 3 – Touché

The brewery was an unfamiliar setting for all three of them, but the offices of Adolphus Busch were not. Everything was dark, highly polished mahogany, heavy furniture with plush velvet fabrics in rich-looking colors. The desk was built for work and not for show, and there was only one photograph in the room, of a beautiful, blonde woman with six smiling children around her. It sat in a prominent place on the upper right corner of the desk. Bookshelves lined the walls, and they were filled with row after row of financial record books, as well as an entire bookcase of works of fiction. A large window took up most of the space behind the desk, with a magnificent view of the land surrounding the bottling operation.

The three 'agents' were escorted by Richmond into the office, and formal introductions were made. Busch immediately noticed the wedding rings on two of the agents fingers and assumed them to be for show and not real. He also noticed the woman. One couldn't help but notice the woman. She was quite spectacular for any kind of a lady but particularly for a Pinkerton detective. She and the Maverick brother sporting the wedding band made a striking couple, the kind you couldn't take your eyes off. Having given the younger brother short-shrift, Busch was unexpectedly taken aback when he turned his attention to the man. Just as good looking in his own way as the woman was in hers, there was something about the way his eyes sparkled that lit up the room. He could understand the reasoning behind the pairing of Agent Malone and whichever Maverick brother she was 'married' to. Putting her with the other brother might have been too much of a good thing, and distracted from the intense scrutiny those dancing brown eyes gave you.

They sat down, the woman in the middle, a brother on either side of her. She was either the senior agent or the one in charge; Adolphus Busch didn't care which it was. She was the one he addressed. "Agent Malone, thank you for coming straight here. I'd like to get on this issue as soon as possible."

"Please, Mr. Busch, I'm Ginny. That is our intent, sir."

The older brother nodded. "You do realize that this isn't somethin' that can be done overnight – not if you actually want to eradicate the problem once and for all." Busch could hear what sounded like a Texas accent in the words.

"I do, Mr. Maverick. Bret, was it? I do, Bret. But the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get finished. In that vein, I am throwing a rather formal dinner party this evening to celebrate the arrival of my good friends, the Maverick brother's, and your 'marriage.' I assume that is simply a marriage of convenience for the sake of the undertaking."

Something changed – darkened and flashed for mere seconds in the other brother's eyes – the one called Bart. If Adolphus Busch hadn't been looking directly at the man, he would have missed it. He would instruct Richmond to look into it and find out exactly what he'd witnessed. Then Bart addressed him candidly. "It is, Mr. Busch, the three of us have worked together before. Arthur Stansbury thought this might present a more easily explainable situation."

"Please, call me Adolph, all of you. We're old friends, remember? I'm sure it will. I assume you all have the appropriate formal dress for the celebration of your marriage?"

Malone laughed at that point; she couldn't help herself. "I'm sure we have the appropriate dress for any occasion. You haven't seen the luggage we brought."

"Good, that makes it easier. Is there anything else you require in the meantime? My stables are at your disposal, of course, including any manner of transportation you may want or require. If you think of anything else, Richmond can provide whatever it is. Dinner will be at six, so please be at the house at five. Within the next two or three days we will have everything moved out of the hotel for you and into the house. Until then, please enjoy your stay at the Union Plaza, and have anything that you need billed directly to the company."

None of the three had known exactly what to expect from Adolphus Busch, but they'd found a businessman who was warm, friendly and eager to be of any help he could. All were favorably impressed and expressed the same as Richmond escorted them from the offices. "Mr. Busch has given me explicit instructions, please let me know if there is something you require that is not readily available and I will obtain it for you. In the meantime, I can send one of the household maids with you if you would like."

"Thank you, Richmond, that won't be necessary," Bret informed the butler. "We would like to know who's aware of our real purpose in being here, besides you, that is."

"Why, no one, Mr. Maverick. Mr. Busch was told to keep everything about your visit strictly confidential, and that's exactly what he's done. Even Madame believes you to be old family friends. From the days before he married Mrs. Busch, of course. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Richmond, there's too many Mavericks here; Bart, Bret, and Ginny, please. At least in private."

The butler smiled. "I can do that, sir. Mr. Maverick. Bret."

"In that case, we'll return to the hotel. To arrive at the house at five, we should leave the hotel when?" Bart asked.

"No later than four thirty, sir. The mansion is quite far away from town."

Bart nodded. "Until then, Richmond. Thank you."

XXXXXXXX

"Formal dinner our first night here, eh? That should tickle you no end, Beauty." Bart was grinning from ear to ear as they bounced around in the coach. Ginny looked like she'd just been sentenced to hang and moaned loudly as if to prove it.

"I guess I might as well get used to it," she remarked. "At least I don't have to look like a penguin tonight."

"No, my dearest spouse, you don't. But we don't have to wear formal ball gowns, either." Bret was now grinning just like his brother. They were both thoroughly enjoying Agent Malone's discomfort at having to dress up like a 'girl.' "Have you figured out where to put your gun yet?"

"Right here," she answered him back and pulled up her skirt to reveal an exquisitely shaped leg holding a garter holster and a Remington two-shot derringer. "And I keep it loaded, so don't give me any trouble, either one of you."

"Glad I don't have to sleep with her, Brother Bret. Your new wife appears quite deadly."

"Doesn't she, though? It's not too late, Bart, she can be your wife instead."

The younger brother fingered the pinky ring he wore and watched Bret for a minute before answering. "Nope, I've done it once. I wouldn't deny you the pleasure."

' _One can only hope,'_ thought Bret, but he said nothing.

"Let's go see what kind of clothes Arthur sent with us, shall we?" Ginny offered. "He did have the two of you fitted for everything, didn't he?"

"Well, not quite everything," Bart answered back quickly and chuckled as his brother turned red. Ginny covered her ears.

"Men. Do you ever grow up?"

Bret leaned over and whispered something in Ginny's ear, and she laughed. "I agree completely," she answered back.

"What?" Bart asked, but got no answer from the Pinkerton detective.

"It's a private joke between husband and wife, and if you're smart you'll quit while you're ahead. Remember Payback, Brother Bart?"

Bart sighed and crossed his arms in front of him. "Touché, Brother Bret, touché."

The remainder of the ride back to the Union Plaza Hotel was made in silence.


	5. Act One

Chapter 4 – Act One

"What dress are you wearin'?" It was a simple question, really, but it triggered a moment of panic for the woman who never wore dresses.

"Does it really make a difference?" she asked her new 'husband.'

Bret looked at her sideways. "Well, yeah, it makes a difference. Mavericks and Busch's are supposed to be old friends, remember? I'm here to show off my new bride. And I want to make sure that all eyes are on her tonight, and not payin' a whole lottta attention to me and Bart. So it matters."

"Then you decide." Ginny found that the best decisions were usually the ones that were made for you.

"This one," Bret announced after looking through the dresses hanging in the closet. He pulled out the one she liked best of everything that Arthur had made for her. It was a green color, the shade of emeralds, and showed off her blue eyes and red hair perfectly. Speaking of her hair, she'd done something different with it since earlier today, and while most of it was still piled up on her head, tendrils and twists hung down her neck and back and curled around her throat.

"Did Arthur send any jewelry? Your hair needs something in it the color of the dress." She searched through the seemingly gigantic box that Arthur had packed for her and found exactly what Bret was after – a long velvet ribbon the same emerald green as the dress. She gave it to him and he took a good look at it. "Can you wind this in with the curls?" he asked as he handed it back to her.

The Pinkerton agent nodded and wove the ribbon through some of her hair while he looked to see what else was available. Gold and diamond earrings and a gold choker completed the look he was after, and Ginny felt elegant and sophisticated when she put them on, and he whistled long and low. Then she giggled and wondered how silly she must seem in the finery. He opened the closet door and she saw an exquisite creature that looked just like her staring at her in the unheard of luxury – a full-length mirror. That's when she took a good look at Bret – he was every bit as 'upper-crust refined' looking as she was.

"We make quite a pair, don't we?" she asked.

"We're supposed to, remember?" he shot back at her. "At least to begin with. Let's just hope Brother Bart doesn't put both of us to shame. Where is that rascal, by the way?"

Just as Bret finished asking the question, Bart opened the door to the suite and walked in. White tie and white silk vest, black tailcoat and black trousers, even older brother had to admit how good younger brother looked. It was Ginny's turn to whistle, and she did so without a trace of envy. Bart closed the door behind him and bowed, grinning the whole time. "You look spectacular," he told the agent as he grabbed her hands and whirled her around in a circle. "You better keep a close eye on her, Brother Bret, and let me do the snoopin' tonight. Nobody in their right mind would leave a woman that looks like this stand around for more than two or three seconds by herself. You stick close by her, and I'll see just who pays attention."

"Probably not a bad idea for tonight. I'll keep an eye out to see who's interested, and you can watch from a distance. And find out just who's who in this company hierarchy."

"And I'll see what the wives have to say. At least this bunch won't be talking about babies and cooking," Ginny added.

"Too much money for that. Although you might get stuck hearing about nannies and cooks," Bret reminded her.

"Are we ready? I need some fresh air," Ginny announced.

"And I need some coffee," Bart added.

XXXXXXXX

Adolph Busch was right – it took a long time to reach the 'house' – what he called a house – but the ride was well worth it. The countryside was so lush and green, with trees and flowers everywhere. And the house. It had long since ceased being a house and had become what Uncle Ben would have lovingly called a mansion – it was almost as big as the brewery itself. Since there were already six children in the family and it would appear Adolph and his wife had no intention of stopping, at least they were prepared.

Richmond greeted them at the door. Even his eyebrows were raised when he caught sight of Agent Malone, and the smallest of smiles tried desperately to keep from spreading across his face. He ushered them into Adolph's study and excused himself almost immediately. A maid quickly appeared carrying a tray loaded with coffee, cups, and glasses. Shortly after pouring coffee for all three she left and Busch himself appeared.

"Did you enjoy the trip out here to the house?" he asked Ginny.

"It was a lovely drive, but I'd hardly call this a house, Mr. Busch."

"Ah, Adolph, remember? Since we're this far out in the countryside, I thought we'd better have space for our many guests. And then there's the children. They need room to grow and spread out, don't you agree, Virginia?"

The only reason Bret knew that Ginny winced was the slight movement in her hand as she poured a second cup of coffee. She'd never said anything about her given name, but it was obvious she preferred the familiar rather than the formal. "Yes, I'm sure they do, Adolph. Not to change the subject, but are there people coming to dinner tonight that Bret and Bart would know from your earlier life?"

"No, everyone tonight is either a business associate, or a Director on the Board, or friends we've made here in St. Louis. There's actually no one here that might or might not recognize an earlier acquaintance of mine. There are some names you should be familiar with, however. Before we start, would either of you gentlemen like anything stronger to drink? Or you, perhaps, Virginia?"

"No, thank you, Adolph. We don't drink. I can't speak for my new wife."

"A trait to be admired in a Pinkerton Detective."

"Or a gambler," added Bart.

"I thought all gambler's drank."

"No," Bret answered, "they don't. Ginny, did you want something other than coffee?"

"No, Bret darling, this is fine."

Adolph chuckled slightly. "You sound like newlyweds."

"The names we should know, Adolph?" Bart prompted.

"Ah, yes. Well, there's Sherman Caulfield, John McGinley, and Temperance Mueller. Mrs. Mueller is the widow of my former brewmaster, Holden Mueller. We worked together for many years, and when Holden died Temperance inherited his seat on the Board. She's proven to be quite valuable, has a great head for business. Then there's Burnell Mueller, Holden's younger brother and my current brewmaster. And the brewery manager, Quinlan Redicker. Virginia, the wives are Violet Caulfield, Edna McGinley, Adele Mueller and Irene Redicker. Everyone loves Adele, she helps run the local orphanage; the others are all quite active in charity work and whatever else keeps them busy. Adele knows everyone and everything that's going on locally, but she is not a gossip. I can't vouch for the rest of them."

"That's quite a list, Adolph. I'll be sure and make Adele's acquaintance. And your wife's name is Lily, isn't it?"

"Yes, and Lily will be happy to introduce you to everyone. Bless Lily's heart, there's not a jealous bone in her body. That will come in handy once every man in the place sees you for the first time and falls in love with you."

"More like every man alive," came from the younger brother. "Ah, my brother is quite the lucky man."

"Pay no attention to Bart, Adolph, the years of workin' with low-life's has warped his sense of humor. Anyone in particular we should watch out for?"

Busch shook his head. "I can't imagine any of these men involved in gambling, knowing how firmly I am against it."

"Money can make a man do almost anything," Bart chuckled. "Can't it, Brother Bret?"

"Yes it can, Brother Bart. We have first-hand experience with that. Until they're cleared, everyone is suspect. Everyone."

"Everyone?" The business owner asked incredulously.

"Everyone," Bart emphasized. A soft knock prevented anything further from being discussed.

"The guests are beginning to arrive, Mr. Busch," Richmond announced as he opened the door. "It's time."

"Act One, Mrs. Maverick. Gentlemen, are we ready?"

Both Maverick men nodded in unison. "About as ready as we'll ever be," Bart announced. "Let the drama begin."


	6. No Complaints

Chapter 5 – No Complaints

It was a whirlwind of activity for the next hour or more, as people arrived one after the other. The ladies were all in beautiful dresses and the men in formal attire, and Ginny had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't a Pinkerton detective, but rather a brand new bride. Lily Busch was the sweetest, most good-natured woman on the face of the earth, and it didn't matter how many times Ginny had to ask her what someone's name was, she had the patience of a saint and repeated it.

It was easier for Bret and Bart; they only had one set of names to remember. Sherman Caulfield was a large, round man, with dark hair and a pointy goatee; his eyes were an odd shade of rust. John McGinley seemed rather dour in contrast, distant but polite – but there was something about him that Bart liked. He was an average fellow all the way around – brown hair, brown eyes, average height and weight, straight and to the point. He was interested in what seemed to be an unusual friendship between the Mavericks and the Busch's – both brothers made no pretense of the fact that they enjoyed a good game of poker, even if Adolph didn't approve of gambling.

"Just because you have different views on somethin' doesn't mean you can't be friends," Bret emphasized. "Adolph knows what we believe and we know what he believes. Neither side tries to change the others mind."

"How do you feel about his insistence that his employees not gamble?" McGinley asked.

"It's his company, isn't it?" Bart reminded their newest acquaintance. "He can require whatever he wants to work there. If you don't wanna comply – work someplace else. Or do what we do."

"Which is?"

"Don't work!" Bart burst out laughing, indicating a joke, and McGinley laughed along with him.

"That's quite some bride you have, Mr. Maverick," Sherman Caulfield stated needlessly. "How did you meet her?"

They'd decided at the very beginning of this adventure to tell as much of the truth as possible, so it was no problem trying to remember a cover story. "Bart and I were on a trip to Denver and we ran into her on the train. We both saw her at the same time, but I was faster on my feet."

"Lucky you," John McGinley commented.

"I certainly think so," Bret smiled at the Board member. He twisted the wedding ring around again and all three men noticed it.

"He's still gettin' used to the ring," Bart explained, and Bret laughed nervously.

"You haven't been married that long then?"

"Less than a month." A self-satisfied smile accompanied that answer. His nervousness and temporary discomfort at being newly-married would serve him well in the future of this undertaking, whatever it might bring.

"I can't even remember when I'd only been married for a month." The fourth man to join the group had just walked up. It was Quinlan Redicker, the brewery manager. Tall and lean, he was a man in his early fifties, with graying blonde hair and a full, luxurious mustache. He immediately stuck his hand out to Bret and they shook. "You must be Bret Maverick. I'm Quinn Redicker. You certainly have outstanding taste in women, Mr. Maverick."

The new 'husband' smiled. "Bret, please. This is my brother Bart." Another round of handshakes accompanied the introduction.

"Stole her right out from under me," Bart complained sadly, shaking his head. "If only I'd moved faster."

"She wouldn't have married you, anyway," Bret told his brother. "Not after she saw me." He turned slightly and watched Ginny give him a half-smile. "I think I better go rescue my bride. She looks lost."

"Better hurry," Caulfield told him. "That's Temperance Mueller bearing down on her."

'Bearing down' was exactly the right phrase. Temperance Mueller was a force of nature. Tall and elegant, with steel gray hair swept up in an intricately woven bun on top of her head, she was headed directly for Ginny. Bret hurried over as much to protect Temperance as Ginny and arrived just a moment before the Board member did. He guided Ginny deftly back towards the group of men he'd been talking to but stopped when she caught his eye. "What's wrong?"

"Can you take me out on the terrace or balcony or whatever they have in this place, please? I need some air."

Bart watched closely as Bret and Malone moved out towards the open door and only caught half of what Quinn Redicker was saying to him. " . . . must be difficult to be around that beautiful a woman and not get any closer."

"Nope, not hard at all. She and my brother love each other, and they make each other happy. Besides, I've got no complaints when it comes to the ladies."

That had Caulfield, McGinley and Redicker all smiling. "No, I don't imagine you do," Quinn remarked.

XXXXXXXX

"Thanks for the rescue. If I hear one more question about when we're gonna start a family . . . "

"I'd be willing to work on that, Ginny," Bret told her.

"I just bet you would, Mr. Maverick."

"Well, if we're gonna have to sleep in the same bed – "

"Just remember my Remington," Ginny reminded the gambler. "Anybody you haven't met so far?"

"Yeah, Burnell Mueller. Haven't seen him yet."

Ginny leaned against Bret's shoulder and looked up at him. "Adele, his wife is here, and she's looking this way. Kiss me."

"Don't have to ask me twice." The gambler took the detective in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, and Adele Mueller smiled.

"You can stop now."

"Uh-uh." He pulled her close and held her, and his touch was gentle but firm. After another minute they finally broke apart. Ginny could see it again in Bret's eyes, that look of melancholy she'd first detected on the train bound for Denver. The marriage might have been a sham, but the kisses were real.

"Bret . . ."

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You're awfully good at that."

"You're easy to kiss."

"Let's not forget why we're here."

It was the wrong thing to say. Or it was the wrong time to say it. Either way, something changed, and when he pulled back from her the window into his soul had closed. His voice was different; his entire demeanor was different. "Trust me, I won't forget again."

"I didn't mean . . . "

"It's alright, Ginny. We're here to solve a problem. That's all." He turned away from her then. "I'd like to smoke. Do you mind? I'll be in later."

She gave him a wistful smile and went back into the ballroom. This time there was no getting away from Mrs. Mueller, and Ginny didn't make an attempt. She'd hurt Bret's feelings, without intending to or even trying, and she was profoundly sorry for it. She looked back out onto the balcony, at the man smoking a cigar in the darkness, and wished with all her heart it hadn't happened. She didn't even hear what Temperance was telling her, and later she would come to regret that action.


	7. Rich People

Chapter 6 – Rich People

Dinner was almost over by the time Burnell Mueller finally made an appearance, and it was obvious there'd been a problem at the brewery from the way he was dressed. Adolph immediately got up and left the table, and Bart could see the two of them discussing something outside the doorway. Eventually Adolph returned and Burnell left.

"Trouble?" Bart asked.

"Just with some equipment – nothing out of the ordinary. Bad timing, I'm afraid."

Bart nodded and turned his attention back to Edna McGinley, who was seated to his immediate right. She'd been explaining her latest project, something novel and unexplored thus far – controlling the dog population of the city.

Ginny could hear the conversation and tried not to laugh. Bart had looked down at her, pleading for help, and rolled his eyes. She nudged Bret and whispered to him, "Your brother needs help."

"He's a big boy, he'll find a way out of it," came the answer, but within a few seconds help came from an unexpected source.

"Brandy and cigars on the terrace, gentlemen," John McGinley proposed, and from the speed with which the men absented themselves from the table it appeared everyone was in need of an excuse to go smoke. As soon as they were outside John pulled the younger Maverick aside. "Looked like Edna had you trapped along with some of her dogs," he told Bart.

"She does seem passionate about the subject."

"I know. I've listened to nothing but talk about dogs for months," her husband explained. "When a man's eyes glaze over its time for a rescue. And I don't mean for the dogs."

"Spoken like a true loving spouse. Thanks for the help." Bart struck a match and lit John's cigar for him. "At least she has a worthwhile cause to be enthusiastic about."

"True. You haven't heard some of the projects that Caulfield's and Redicker's wives have gotten involved in. So you're not married yet, eh?"

"I was, once. She died."

"Not in any hurry to do it again?"

"Nope. Came close a time or two. Too many women out there in the world. So do you have any idea what the problem was at the brewery?"

John shook his head. "I know that Burnell hasn't had an easy time of it. His brother Holden was the real genius when it came to perfecting Adolph's ideas, and Burnell's struggled. And lately the machinery seems to be giving him constant fits. Real shame he couldn't make the dinner tonight, though. Burnell's got a wicked sense of humor. He always makes the evenings more enjoyable." Richmond sent another of the maids around pouring brandy and John seemed surprised that Bart accepted a glass. "Thought you didn't drink," John remarked.

"Never when I'm playing poker. Small chance of that tonight. Besides, if I have to listen to any more dog stories I need some fortification."

"No more tonight, I swear. What do you do to keep occupied when you and your brother aren't traveling?"

"Whatever I feel like. Poker, horse races, whatever seems interesting at the moment. And you?"

John gave a small laugh. "Help Edna with her latest cause. I sit on several different Boards besides Adolph's – some fascinating things going on in this country. And I raise horses."

"Oh, what breed?" Bart's interest was piqued.

"Arabian's, mostly. Some thoroughbreds. You a horseman?"

"Sat on one for the first time when I was three years old."

"Then you have to come out to the farm and see what I'm working on."

Bart nodded. "That sounds like a good idea, John. I'd love to."

XXXXXXXX

It was late when the carriage returned to the hotel. It had been an entertaining, frustrating, boring, exciting evening, and they compared notes all the way back to the Union Plaza.

"I'm goin' out to McGinley's farm to see what he's workin' on. What about you, Brother Bret?"

"Goin' to the brewery with Adolph to see what kinda problems Burnell's been havin'. Sounds like too many things goin'wrong all at once to be a coincidence. Mrs. Maverick, what about you?"

"Temperance wants to have lunch. She has a meeting with some kind of new business she's involved with and then wants me to join her. What about Caulfield?"

"All in good time, Ginny. We can't move everything along all in one day," Bret answered her. "I think we made substantial progress in one evenin'. Let's see where things go tomorrow."

"I know where I'm goin' tonight – and that's bed. It's been a long, long day. And tomorrow could be longer. These people get up at the crack of dawn, for heaven's sake." Bart considered anything before noon to be the crack of dawn.

Ginny yawned, agreeing with him. "Me, too. It's tiring, wearin' all this finery and bein' beautiful," and she started giggling like a schoolgirl and couldn't stop.

"Where are we all sleepin' tonight?" Bret asked.

"In a bed, Bret. Where else?"

"Who's sleepin' in which bed?" was his next question.

"Now just who do you think is sleepin' in which bed?" Ginny replied.

"Well . . ."

"No. Don't even think about it." Said in the firmest possible voice she could manage.

"You just lost that argument without even tryin'," came from Bart, who was leaning back against his corner of the carriage. "Malone gets my room, and we'll sleep like we always do. Unless you'd like to sleep on the floor, Brother Bret."

"No way, Jose. I can put up with you for one more night."

"Put up with me? You're the one that snores, not me."

Ginny raised her eyes to the heavens. "Lord, why me?"

"You were in the wrong place at the right time. Or was that the right place at the wrong time? I forget, Agent Malone." Bart was grinning from ear to ear.

There was a sigh from the other corner of the carriage. "I think she shoulda been your wife," Bret insisted just as the horses came to a halt at the hotel entrance.

"Right now I don't care whose wife I am. I just want some sleep."

Bart opened the door and got out, then helped 'Mrs. Maverick' down. Then he closed the door on his brother and escorted Ginny inside. "Hey, wait for me," Bret yelped as he got down out of the coach. The carriage driver watched the three of them go inside and shook his head.

"Rich people," he muttered under his breath.


	8. Master's Pleasure

Chapter 7 – Master's Pleasure

"Do you have to make that much noise?" Bart pulled the pillow over his head as Bret finished shaving and got dressed.

"Yes, I have to make that much noise. You need to get up and dressed, Brother Bart. You're supposed to get on out to McGinley's ranch this mornin'."

"Don't remind me. It ain't like doin' chores. I'll be there when I get there."

There was somebody pounding on the door to the suite and Bret went to answer it. It was a bellhop. "Carriage waiting for Mr. Bret Maverick," he announced and went running back downstairs.

Bret went to close the door just as Ginny emerged from what was supposed to be Bart's bedroom. She had on a blue silk dressing gown that left little to the imagination and Bret ducked back into the room, sweeping her quickly into his arms and kissing her before she had a chance to protest. "What was that?" she sputtered.

"Practice," he answered her, and was quickly gone.

She knocked on the bedroom door and heard Bart yell, "Go away!"

Ginny stood there without moving and simply answered, "Okay, I will," and the younger Maverick came flying out of the bedroom and practically crashed into her. "Aren't you supposed to be out at McGinley's ranch?" she asked him.

"Not you, too!"

"Me, too. You're not playin' poker, you need to get up."

"I'm up. Do I get a good morning kiss?"

"Why would you think that?" the detective laughed.

"Bret got one, didn't he?"

"He's supposed to be my husband."

"Well, I'm supposed to be . . . oh, never mind." Just before Bart turned to go back in and get dressed Ginny gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "That doesn't even count!"

XXXXXXXX

The brewery was a good size and growing, almost twice as big as anything Bret Maverick had ever seen. It hadn't started out that way, but by the time the gambling problems had arisen it was well on its way to becoming St. Louis' pre-eminent business. Quinn Redicker met Bret's carriage and took him on a guided tour of the whole place.

"Sorry that Adolph isn't here; one of the boys came down with something and he wanted to stay home to see the doctor. He and Lily lost a little girl several years back and they take no chances with the children's health. He'll be in later this morning."

"I certainly understand that," Bret remarked, following Quinn around to get an idea of the layout. "Is Burnell Mueller here? I still haven't gotten to meet him."

"Burnell? Sure, Burnell almost lives here now. Come on, I'll introduce you. If he's not in the midst of another repair, that is."

"Is the equipment old or just worn out?" Bret asked as they walked.

"Neither, actually. Adolph tries to keep everything new or well-repaired. Just seems like everything that could go wrong has ever since we lost his brother. Burnell's just had a run of bad luck. And he's a good kid – but things haven't been the same since Holden died."

"What happened to his brother?"

"Holden got killed in a freak accident here at the brewery. A vat of wort got spilled just as Holden was adding some untried spices and he slipped and broke his neck. Dead instantly."

"I hate to show my ignorance, but what's wort?"

"It's the sticky sweet liquid made from mash. You're a friend of Adolph's and you don't know what wort is?"

Bret quickly covered. "I don't drink, remember? Not even Adolph's beer."

Quinn thought about that for a minute and then nodded. "Of course. I just assumed . . . never mind that. Like I said, freak accident. Burnell had only been learning the trade for several years and wasn't quite ready to take over, but he stepped up and did it. And his life has been a nightmare ever since. Adele never gets to see him – he spends most of his waking hours at the brewery. And like I said, it's been one thing after another here. That's Burnell over there by the vat."

Bret looked up to see the man that had come into the dining room last night, in the same clothes he had on then. Obviously, Burnell Mueller hadn't been home since. He was young, relatively speaking, younger than Bret expected, maybe thirty or thirty-two at the outside. His hair was long, almost to his shoulders, and a sandy brown color. He wore a short, neatly trimmed beard and stood nearly as tall as Bret.

They walked over to the vat and Quinn made introductions. "Sorry about last night," Burnell explained. "I had another piece of equipment go down at the last minute and I just couldn't get away. Mr. Busch was talking about organizing a ride of some kind? Maybe I can make that. I'd be interested in talking to the men that knew Adolph when . . ." He answered a question for one of his men and then turned back to Bret. "I understand from Adele that your bride is quite a beauty. My wife came by here earlier this morning to make sure I'd eaten. I tend to forget that when I'm busy."

"You sound like my brother Bart. He exists on coffee, coffee, and more coffee. As for Ginny – I'm a lucky man that a woman that beautiful fell in love with me. She's quite an extraordinary person. Our visit here will probably be extended, so you'll get to meet her. As long as your equipment holds up."

"Mine should. I don't know about the brewery's. Everything seems to be going wrong lately. With the equipment, I mean. And then there's . . . well, never mind. Good to meet you, Mr. Maverick."

It was the second time in just a few minutes that a sentence had been finished with the words 'never mind.' He couldn't help but wonder if the gambling was being avoided by Mueller. "Please, call me Bret. Mr. Maverick is my pap . . . father."

They shook hands and Bret and Quinn resumed walking. It was almost another hour before the tour was finished. "Let's go see if Adolph is here yet. It would be pleasant to hear some good news."

XXXXXXXX

Bart and John leaned against the fence and watched McGinley's pride and joy, three-year-old Master's Pleasure, kick up his heels and cavort around the paddock. They'd been outside with the horses for almost an hour, after touring the barns and stables, and Bart understood why John was so enamored of the stallion. Big even for an Arabian, Master's Pleasure stood over 17 hands at the withers and was coal black in color. Spirited and feisty, he was a delight to behold as he romped up one side of the corralled pasture and down the other.

"He certainly lives up to his name," Bart remarked as the horse never stopped moving. "Pure or cross-bred?"

"Pure," McGinley answered. "That's why I'm surprised he's so big. Neither dam or sire showed that kind of size, but he is a big boy."

"He reminds me of a gelding I have named Noble. A horse with a mind of his own."

"He does have one of those. I've got some unexpected time on my hands. Up for a ride?"

"I'd like that, John. You can show me the ranch."

"It's more a farm than ranch. Besides the horses we have pigs, chickens, cows, and goats. We raise our own wheat, corn, and vegetables, and Edna and the girls keep a flower garden out back."

"How many do you have? Girls, I mean."

McGinley laughed. "Four. I'm surrounded by women and I love it. They're a joy and a delight, and the oldest one is interested in my horse breeding. She's all of ten going on thirty – JoEllen, my little assistant. She's the one that named Master, and she's raising her own foal right now. I can see her running the farm after I'm gone. The others are my little angels – Sue Lynn, Abigail and the baby, Olivia, but JoEllen is my tomboy. I suspect that Edna would like to have a boy, but I'm content. If we do, we do. If not, I'm still a happy man. You want kids, Bart?"

"I've thought about that, John. I think so. Only problem is finding the right woman to have them with."

"Your wife? How'd she die? Not in childbirth, I hope."

Bart shook his head. His days of not being able to talk about Caroline were long since over. "No, she was killed by somebody trying to take our ranch. We had no intention of selling, and they couldn't abide by that."

Instinctively John rested his hand on Bart's arm. "Sorry, didn't mean to bring up something painful. They catch the man?"

"Nope. He shot me and I killed him."

"You . . . you were there when it happened?"

There was a faraway look in Bart's eyes as he answered. It didn't hurt like it used to, but it wasn't completely painless. "I was coming downstairs. He shot Caroline when she came through the front door, then he shot me. An unhappy end to a happy story." He shuddered and it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Bart's reluctance to remarry made sense now that McGinley knew more about what had happened. "Still own the ranch?"

"I gave it to her cousin. I couldn't stay there. It's in New Mexico. And I went back to traveling with my brother. Guess I'm gonna have to find somethin' else to do now that he and Ginny are married."

"You ever think about settling down somewhere? Besides New Mexico, I mean."

"I did. I found some land in South Dakota that I wanted to stay on and bought it. But it wasn't mine, not really, and I gave it back to its rightful owners."

"Lakota?"

A nod of the head. "Yep. It was theirs, anyway. Other than that, never saw anything made me want to stay. Sure is beautiful country around here, but there's lots of beautiful country out there, and I haven't seen it all. Maybe there's a place, but for now . . . no, I haven't found it yet."

"I get the feeling you don't tell that story to many."

Bart was quiet and still for a minute. Then, "You're right, I don't. Let's go for that ride, shall we?"


	9. Things that go Plunk in the Night

Chapter 8 – Things that go Plunk in the Night

Ginny took her time getting ready for her lunch with Temperance Mueller. Arthur had several daytime dresses made for her, and she chose the light brown one with the rust colored lace around the throat. The carriage had returned from taking Bret to the brewery, and she arrived at the Mueller house right on time. Unfortunately, Temperance was running late and Ginny waited almost an hour for her past their scheduled lunch date.

She passed the time in the Mueller stable with the horses. Right now Ginny wanted nothing more than to put on familiar clothes and get on a horse. This 'get-up', as she called the clothes Arthur had provided her with, was driving her as close to distraction as she had ever come. Just as she was about to take the carriage back to the hotel, Temperance drove up in the buggy, profoundly sorry and full of apologies. She didn't tell Ginny where she was or why she'd been delayed, and Ginny didn't ask.

They drove into town and went to have lunch at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel. They'd just ordered their food when Bret and Quinn Redicker appeared, Adolph Busch also being unintentionally delayed when the Busch family doctor was late arriving at the house. The company owner and president sent his brewery manager off with the 'Pinkerton Detective' so that he could catch up on what he'd missed this morning and spend the afternoon with Bret. The new 'bridegroom' joined his 'bride' and Mrs. Mueller and quickly placed their lunch order. Bret kissed Ginny and she flirted shamelessly with her new 'husband' – it was the most fun she'd had all morning, and they bantered back and forth as newlyweds might.

"And what have you done today, my lovely wife?" Bret teased.

"She got stuck waiting for me to get home and pick her up," Temperance explained. "Probably expected a home-cooked meal and got shuffled off to this overpriced place instead. I'm sorry, Virginia, if we try again tomorrow, I promise I'll be home on time. Do you have plans?"

"She does, Mrs. Mueller – with me." Bret jumped in to rescue Ginny and she was eternally grateful. She found his hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. Two days in a row with Temperance Mueller would try anyone's patience.

"Well, I certainly understand that. Perhaps we can make it later in the week? I'd really like you to see what I've gotten involved with." There was almost a pleading tone in Temperance's voice.

"That would be most agreeable, Temperance. Thursday or Friday? I can ride over to your place. I really need to get outdoors," Ginny answered her.

"Adolph would be happy to provide us with horses, Ginny, if that's what you want to do."

"I'd love to, darling. I do want to see Adolph's beautiful grounds. Do you think we could do that tomorrow? I'm so tired of being cooped up inside."

Bret nodded. "I'll ask him when we get back to the brewery. I can't imagine it will be a problem."

Lunch arrived, and everyone dug into their food. By the time they were finished, Bret and Ginny had learned that Quinn and his wife Irene had raised three grown sons, one of whom was employed at the brewery. A second was in college, and the third worked for his father at the ranch.

Temperance and Holden had a daughter named Helena, who was married with a child on the way, and Temperance was looking forward to becoming a grandmother at long last.

Quinn grabbed the check and paid for lunch, while Ginny decided to walk back to the hotel, which was only a block away. Bret accompanied her back there, to make sure she arrived safely, and then Quinn picked him up at the Union Plaza. Temperance drove home and the men returned to the brewery, where they were met by Adolph and Sherman Caulfield. The remainder of the afternoon was spent in one meeting after another, with Bret introduced to so many different people that he couldn't keep track of all the names.

By the time he returned to the hotel it had been decided that, due to the non-stop afternoon and the late lunch, dinner would be a peaceful, private meal in the Union Plaza dining room. Bart still wasn't back from John McGinley's, and Bret wanted to wait for him before they made any further plans for the evening.

XXXXXXXX

It had been another exhausting day, this one emotionally rather than physically, and Bart wanted nothing more than a quiet dinner and an early night. It seemed like there was always something that reminded him of Caroline when he was least expecting it.

The suite was deserted and he was more than happy to find it that way. Maybe if he lay down for a while the ache in his head would go away, and he could stop thinking of his dead wife. He was sound asleep by the time Ginny and Bret came back and he didn't hear them until they started discussing Temperance and the odd figure she presented. Both agreed it was a good idea to investigate her background and find out as much as possible about what kind of a business or enterprise she seemed to be currently involved with.

Bart emerged from the bedroom rubbing the sleep from his eyes and found them playing a game of poker. "When did you get back?" Bret asked him.

Bart pulled out his watch and looked at it. "Over an hour ago. Have you eaten supper yet?"

"Nope. We were havin' coffee downstairs. They've got this funny little thing they call a 'coffee shop' on the other side of the dinin' room. They serve coffee and tea and pastries all day long. You'll love it."

"In the mood for supper?" Bart asked Ginny.

"You bet I am. Bret?"

"Not really, but I'll go with the two of you. We can compare notes on today and see what conclusions we've come to."

Bart stopped in his tracks and looked at his brother. "Wait, you're not hungry? Since when? Are you feelin' alright?"

"I'm all right, I'm just not hungry. Come on, I'll show you this 'coffee shop.' "

They were on their way downstairs when a bellhop came running after them. "Mr. Maverick, Mr. Maverick!" Bret and Bart both turned around and answered, "Yes?"

"Mr. Bret Maverick?"

"I'm Bret Maverick."

"I have an urgent message for you from Adolphus Busch. Sign here, please." Bret signed for the message and Bart tipped the bellhop. Bret read the note and handed it to Bart, who in turn gave it to Ginny. The note read, _'Please come immediately to the Busch home. Temperance Mueller is dead.'_


	10. Pretty Little Maids

Chapter 9 – Pretty Little Maids

A quiet night and an early evening were no longer part of the agenda. Bret, Bart, and Ginny immediately went outside and found a carriage waiting for them, which they took directly to the Busch estate. The ride was silent, each member of the group trying to determine just what the meaning of the death could be. Did it have anything to do with the illegal gambling? Or was it related to the unexpected demise of her husband, Holden? Or perhaps just an unfortunate accident? Finally, was it tied in with Temperance's mysterious new business venture?

Ginny's mind was working overtime, since she'd spent the most time with Temperance, and she kept going back over everything in her head to make sure she hadn't missed a sign. When she'd run over everything that she could think of, she looked up at Bret and asked him point blank, "Did I miss something?"

"If you did, I've missed it, too. She seemed fine at lunch today."

"You all had lunch with Mrs. Mueller today?" Bart asked.

Bret nodded. "Accidentally. She was late picking up Ginny, and Quinn Redicker took me to the Chase Park Plaza for lunch. They'd just ordered, so we joined them. Maybe it was just a normal death, you know, not what we're all thinkin' of."

"I don't think we'd have been summoned to the estate if it wasn't somethin' out of the ordinary. And we were definitely summoned. Anything I should know about lunch?" Bart asked.

"Nothing unusual. Temperance seemed awfully determined to show me her latest project. Since she was so late picking me up she wanted to get together tomorrow – but Bret got me out of that, thank God. We were supposed to see each other later in the week." Ginny didn't look particularly happy, but she'd done nothing wrong. Why Temperance Mueller had latched onto her she didn't know, but they hadn't been called one thousand miles to solve whatever problems existed in the mind of the board members; they'd been contracted to root out and dissolve the illegal gambling operations that existed. She was sorry that Temperance was dead, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now.

When they reached the Busch estate everything seemed to be in a mild state of disarray. Richmond even seemed slightly flustered, which was a first for the normally unflappable employee. "Please, come in," he greeted them at the door. "Mr. Busch will meet you in the study."

He deposited them in the study and left. Bart found the coffee pot full and poured three cups of coffee and they sat down to wait for Adolph, still silent for the most part. Until they had all the facts there wasn't much that could be said, and the facts would be in short supply until Busch or someone in authority put in an appearance.

Almost an hour later a maid appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and a stack of sandwiches on a tray. It was a welcome addition to the coffee and everyone ate until they'd had enough. Another thirty minutes went by before the door opened and Adolph Busch finally appeared. "I'm sorry it's taken so long. I wanted to bring the three of you into the inquiry in the other room, but that would have required an explanation to the Chief of Police, and I'd rather he didn't know just yet. And I'm sorry about the food, but I assumed you hadn't gotten to eat yet and rather than let you starve . . ."

"The food was fine, Adolph, and much appreciated. Tell us what you can," Bart asserted as he poured another cup of coffee.

Busch sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. Right now he looked old and worn out, and he took an empty cup and poured coffee for himself. "Temperance must have gone back to the ranch after lunch. Police Chief Mildour says there were too many horse tracks to tell what was fresh and what wasn't, but she might have had a visitor this afternoon. If she did, they didn't bring happy news."

"Who found her?" Ginny asked.

"Her ranch foreman, Mel Bowers. He went to the barn to check on something and found her there."

"In the barn? What happened, Adolph? Was it her heart?" Ginny was still asking the questions.

"Her heart, Virginia? I'm sorry, didn't I tell you? She . . . she hung herself."

"What? Did you say . . . "

"Yes, I'm afraid I did. She took a rope and hung herself. Poor Temperance. She was a strong, strong lady. Something terrible must have driven her to do that." Adolph reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, uncorking it and pouring some into his coffee. He handed the bottle to Bret, but it passed among the three 'Mavericks' without a taker. He closed the bottle up and put it back in the desk drawer, then raised his cup high. "To Temperance Mueller. May God have mercy on her soul."

"To Temperance." The remaining three coffee cups were raised, and everyone drank what was left in them.

"Any chance we can see the body?" Bret asked.

"Probably. She's at Doctor Whatley's in town, he's our family doctor, too. I'm sure you can view it in the morning. His office is down on Sixth Street, right across from the Watershed Saloon. Convenience, you understand. That's the saloon that most of the drovers passing through town frequent. Why don't you all spend the night here and we can go down there first thing. And this is as good an excuse as any to have your belongings moved over from the hotel, that way when we're done with Doc Whatley you can come back here and clean up. Any problem with that?" Everyone agreed it was a good idea. "Good, that's settled. It's late. I'll send Marie Claire in to show you to your rooms. Ginny, Bret, you alright with one room?"

"We'll be fine, Adolph," Bret answered. "Just as long as we have a room with a settee in it."

"That I can promise." A young maid had come into the room. "Marie Claire, take Mr. and Mrs. Maverick to the double guest room, and Mr. Maverick to the front guest room, please."

Marie Claire dropped a curtsy and held the door open. "This way please, Monsieur and Madame. I will return in just a moment, Monsieur," she told Bart, and curtsied again.

"Where do you find them, Adolph? The maids, I mean. They're all just delightful."

"I have to give Lily credit for that, Bart. She insists we have attractive, well-educated young women working for us. I'll tell her you appreciate her choices."

"Please do. They're polite and friendly, and they're certainly pleasant to look at."

Marie Claire had returned and led Bart to his bedroom. "You brother and sister-in-law are right down the hall, Monsieur, if you should need them for anything. There is a fresh pot of coffee and water on the table, as well as a basket of locally grown fresh fruit. If there's anything else that you need, please just ring the bell in your room."

"Thank you, Marie Claire. I'm sure I'll be fine."

One more curtsy and the maid closed the door behind her. Bart looked around the room, which was even more richly appointed than the hotel room had been. No wonder he and Bret kept traveling the country playing poker, hoping to hit it big. He could get used to living like this. At least, he'd like to try sometime before he died. Just down the hall, his brother was thinking the same thing.


	11. Reasonable Clothes

Chapter 10 – Reasonable Clothes

The following morning was gloomy and overcast. Bart woke early when he heard a rooster crow and couldn't go back to sleep; he knew it was too early for Bret and Ginny so he got dressed and found his way to the dining room, where breakfast was already in full swing.

Busch and his wife Lily were at opposite ends of the table, with six little Busch's seated between the two of them. "Bart, come in, sit down and have some breakfast. I didn't expect to see you up this early. Geneviève, bring Mr. Maverick a coffee cup and some breakfast."

"Certainly, Mr. Busch," another of the pretty little maids curtsied her way out of the dining room and was gone a mere minute, returning with a cup and a plate full of food. Under normal circumstances, Maverick would have been more interested in the coffee than the food, but after the small dinner last night he was actually hungry and glad to see eggs, bacon, and biscuits.

"Thanks, Adolph. Good morning to you, Mrs. Busch. And how is everyone feeling this morning?"

Six little heads nodded in unison, but not a word was uttered. Bart had never seen children so quiet and orderly, even down to the littlest, who couldn't be more than two years old. And unless Bart missed his guess, son or daughter number seven was on the way. "What got you up this early?" Adolph finally asked, knowing there had to be some reason Bart was awake with the rest of the family.

"The rooster. Is he always that loud?"

One of the older boys spoke up. "I told you about the rooster, Father. He wakes everyone up."

"Alright, Alexis, you've made your point. We'll do something about the rooster."

Alexis smiled brightly. He knew what that meant.

When the children were finished eating each, in turn, gathered up his or her plate and left the room. Soon it was only Adolph and Bart left drinking coffee. "You have a special blend of coffee here."

"Ah, you can tell the difference. Coffee is my weakness, I'm afraid, and it has to be just so for me to drink it."

Bart almost laughed out loud. "I practically live on it. Have you ever heard of a coffee called Black Carada? A friend of mine has the stuff imported from New Orleans. This has a very similar taste and aroma."

"I believe this blend has elements of Black Carada in it, maybe even some of the beans themselves. You are a coffee connoisseur if you know Carada." Geneviève came in and poured both men more of the coffee blend, and just before she left Bret and Ginny made their appearance in the room.

"My God, what is that heavenly smell?" Bret asked.

"You too?" Adolph asked, laughing at the gleam in Bret's eyes.

"Not as bad as my brother. You are talking about the coffee, aren't you? I think Bart would die without it. It was just a late night, and an early rooster. I mean, early morning. And I think Ginny and I are both in need."

"Rooster got you too, Brother Bret?" Bart asked, a grin on his face. "You'll be happy to know he's not long for the world."

Ginny took the coffee pot from Bret and poured herself a cup. "Any more news on Temperance, Adolph?"

The beer magnate shook his head. "No, but I sent word to the doctor that we'd be in to see him and the body this morning. So the sooner we go in the better." He picked up the bell on the table and rang it, and Geneviève came hurrying back in.

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring Mr. and Mrs. Maverick what you brought Bart. And hurry."

"Yes, sir." This time she was gone almost five minutes, but she came back bearing two plates of food.

Bret's eyes lit up again when he saw the plate piled high. Nothing was said for the next few minutes as Bret and Ginny ate their breakfasts. Bart pulled out his watch and looked at it. "Fifteen minutes enough time for everyone to get ready?"

Ginny gave Bret an imperceptible nod and Bret said "Sure." The three Mavericks excused themselves from the table. Bart followed Ginny and his brother down the hall and listened to them bicker about the visit to the doctor's office until he got to his room, then he ducked inside, and all was once again quiet.

XXXXXXXX

The quiet continued until they were more than halfway to the city. Then Ginny looked up in horror, having just remembered Temperance's impending grandmotherhood. "Has anyone told Helena?" she suddenly asked.

"Chief Mildour did last night," Adolph answered. "How did you know about Helena?"

"She talked about . . . how happy she was to be a grandmother at last. There's no way she would have hung herself, gentlemen. She was too excited about that child being born."

"So, you think murder?" Bart asked.

"I think we need more information before we come to a conclusion. But yes, I think murder."

The city had already started its day by the time the carriage arrived at Doctor Whatley's office. Even at this early hour, there were several of the just arrived drovers milling about in front of the Watershed Saloon, just across the street. The occupants of the carriage all got out and filed into the doctor's office one at a time.

Doctor Whatley was a small man, maybe sixty years old, with a rapidly balding head of white hair. He greeted them with a big smile and listened intently as Adolph Busch explained the situation and just exactly who the three Mavericks actually were. "For safety's sake, Joseph, ours and theirs, no one can know my two old friends are actually Pinkerton agents. And the bride is the agent in charge. They need to examine Mrs. Mueller before you discharge her to Helena. In private. You understand?"

"Quite clearly, Adolph. Do you wish to view her one at a time, or all at once? Mrs. Maverick?"

"Malone, Doctor Whatley. Agent Malone. I think all at once would suit our purposes best, don't you, gentlemen?"

Bret and Bart agreed with her and the doctor led them into the back room, where a body lay on the exam table, covered by a sheet. Once Whatley left the room Ginny pulled the sheet down and uncovered Temperance Mueller's body. There was a large, wide bruise that ran under the chin; that was the only visible difference between yesterday and today. Ginny spent a long time examining the body, checking every angle and looking at every mark she could find. Bret and Bart stayed out of her way. Bart remembered his own brush with the noose all too vividly and found himself walking to the far end of the room to try and erase the images from his mind.

After about forty-five minutes Ginny looked up unexpectedly, right at Bret. "I was right. This wasn't suicide, it was murder. Her neck was broken first and then she was hung from the barn rafters to make it look that way. They'd have probably gotten away with it, too, if I hadn't been here. Whoever did this was no amateur, that's for sure. Look here, and here, and here." Ginny pointed out various things that Bret took note of while she pointed at them. "This hair right here isn't hers, and there's a spot turning into a bruise where she was held while her neck was snapped. And there's a smell – almost like a flower, around her mouth." She looked past Bret, then, and saw Bart sitting at the other end of the room with his head in his hands. "Bart, are you alright?"

The youngest Maverick looked up. "I will be."

Ginny turned back to Bret. "What am I missing? What's wrong?"

Bret lowered his voice until it could barely be heard. "He was convicted of a murder he didn't commit and sentenced to hang. I couldn't get back with the proof of his innocence until he was halfway up the gallows steps."

"Ouch."

Bart got to his feet slowly and walked over to the body. "Sorry. Anything I need to know besides murder?"

"That's the most important part."

"So where do we go from here?" Bret asked.

"Out to her ranch to see the scene of the crime and talk to her foreman. And let's keep this between us. Whoever did this doesn't need to know they've been found out so quickly. Might put someone else in jeopardy."

Bart left the room and rejoined Adolph in Doc's front office. Bret hung back with Ginny for a minute. "What you told me before – about him almost being hung. There's more to the story, right? A lot more?"

Bret's head bobbed up and down. "A lot more, and it's a long tale."

"Tell me about it tonight? That's not something you get over so easily."

"No, it's not. And he has, for the most part. I think just seeing Temperance brought it all back."

"He'll be alright?"

"He'll be fine. Let's go back to Adolph's and see if our clothes are there. I need to shave and change."

"If we're going out to the ranch I want to ride. And wear some reasonable clothes," Ginny made a face as she said that.

"Whose idea of reasonable?"

"Mine."

"Lord preserve us."


	12. Living in the Material World

Chapter 11 – Living in the Material World

Bret breathed a sigh of relief when Ginny found him outside the stables. He'd collected the horses that were saddled for the three 'agents' from the ranch foreman and brought them around the front. Ginny didn't have on the breath-stopping clothes that she was wearing the first time the Maverick brothers saw her. She was dressed conservatively, at least for her, in buckskin colored slacks and a long buckskin coat, with what appeared to be a plain white shirt on underneath. Even her hat was buckskin color, and she wore no visible weapons, although she did have a shoulder holster under the coat.

Bart was still doing something in the stable when Ginny reached the horses, and Bret smiled at her. "Thank you," he told her, and she never even asked him _'For what?'_ She just smiled in return. He held her horse while she mounted and then handed her the reins, mounted his horse and yelled "Bart!" just as his brother appeared. "Let's go, Brother Bart," he called as Bart ran for the horses.

They were off in less than a minute, riding according to the directions the ranch foreman had given them. It felt good to be out in the fresh air, and even though the trip was for an unpleasant reason – still, it was a pleasant ride. Within thirty minutes they were at the Mueller Ranch and saw several people in the corral when they got there. Bret assumed the man that walked over to them was Mel Bowers, the foreman, and he was correct. Introductions were made; Mel wasn't quite sure what authority the three of them had to be there, but Police Chief Mildour had told him they were coming and to let them see anything they wanted. After they tied their horses he led them into the barn and showed them where he'd found Temperance; he was visibly shaken as he went back over the events of yesterday evening.

"I went to the house to tell her about the new foal we had, but she wasn't there. It wasn't like her to be anywhere but the house that late in the day. So I went looking for her, and the barn was just about the last place I expected her to be. Soon as I saw her I cut her down, but it was way too late. She was such a sweet soul, and it ain't been easy on her since the mister died. I just can't believe she did that, though. She really wanted to see her grandbaby, that's all she talked about here lately. That and the new business she was gettin' into."

"Did she tell you what it was? The new business, I mean," Bret asked.

"No, sir, she never did. Just that she was excited about it. It seemed to put a spark back in her eyes. What would ever make her do what she done?"

"I don't know, Mr. Bowers. None of this seems to make any sense. Has her daughter been here yet?" Ginny asked.

"No, ma'am, I haven't seen her yet. It's almost time for the baby, so I'd be real surprised if she showed up here for a while. She knows the ranch ain't goin' nowhere. Anything else I can do for you, or show you?"

"Do you mind if we just kind of wander around for a while, Mr. Bowers? I promise we won't disturb anything." That was from Bart.

"No, sir, go right ahead. If you need me for anything I'll either be in the corral or the house." Mel started to walk away and then turned back to the three of them for just a minute, shaking his head. "I sure am gonna miss Mrs. Mueller. She was a real fine lady."

"I'm sure she was, Mr. Bowers. I'm sure she was."

When Bret looked around, Ginny had already disappeared. He walked into the barn and found her checking the hooves of the horses inside.

"They were all shod by the same smith," she told him. "Very distinctive. Let's go take a look at the tracks outside." They made their way back to the front of the house. Bart was nowhere to be seen. Bret just shrugged his shoulders.

"Who knows? Doing something constructive, one would hope."

After a few minutes of examining any tracks that could be distinguished, Ginny came to the same conclusion the Police Chief had – there were just too many overlapping tracks to tell what was fresh and what wasn't, or if there had been a horse that didn't belong to the Mueller stable here. Bret actually found one clear hoof print that appeared to have different markings – but it could have been days, if not weeks, old.

They went back to the barn and took a closer look at the spot where Mel found Temperance. "I think there was more than one person involved," Bret speculated.

"Why?" Ginny asked, wanting to know just what Bret was thinking.

"If Temperance was dead, it probably would have taken more than one person to hold her upright long enough to get her feet off the ground by pulling on the rope. But it would have made that high chin bruise we saw. If she wasn't dead until she was hoisted up, it definitely would have taken two people to balance the unconscious body."

"Now you're thinking like a detective would," she gave him a small grin. Just then Bart emerged from inside the house, setting his hat back on his head. "Find anything out of the ordinary?"

"I talked to her housekeeper, Myra. Mrs. Mueller was an interesting lady, that's for sure."

XXXXXXXX

Bart had no interest in following Ginny and Bret around while they looked at horse tracks, so he made his way into the house and started exploring. Not much out of the ordinary until he found Mrs. Mueller's housekeeper, Myra, working in the kitchen, preparing lunch as usual. Maybe it was just something to keep herself busy – she did look distracted. She was a small woman, maybe forty years old, with a head full of curls and she was absent-mindedly humming a tune Bart had never heard before. She looked up when he entered the kitchen, not at all startled to see a stranger walk into the room, and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Police?" she asked respectfully.

"Sort of," he answered, and she smiled again. One couldn't help but smile at the man; he was young and handsome, well-mannered and polite. He'd taken off his hat to her, and she assumed him to be someone in authority rather than just one of Mrs. Mueller's friends. Her friends would not have been so gracious to a mere employee. "I'm Bart Maverick. I'm . . . investigating Mrs. Mueller's death."

"Ah. Lunch for Mr. Mel," she explained as she finished the plate of food and set it on the end of the counter. "He will be in shortly to get it."

"That's very kind of you. Did you fix him lunch often?"

"Almost every day. He and the Señora would have lunch together and talk over whatever business there was to discuss. Sometimes I think it was just an excuse for two lonely people to be a little less lonely for a while. They would eat and talk; sometimes they would play a game of chess in the afternoon. Then he would go back to work, and she would find something else to do. It was a pleasant interlude for all three of us."

"Has she been doing that since Mr. Mueller died?"

"Si, most of the time. She thought a lot of Mr. Mel, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her. I can't imagine how much it pained him to find her like that."

"I'm sure it did. What about her daughter, Helena? Did she come visit often?"

"Si. Until the last few weeks. The baby is almost due and she is big with child, so it has slowed down a lot. Señora was happy about the baby. She wanted a grandchild very much. I was even teaching her to knit so that she could make baby clothes. She was making good progress with the task."

"Did she tell you anything about this new business venture of hers?"

"New business venture?" There was confusion in Myra's voice and eyes. "She spoke of no business venture. I know nothing about that."

"Are you sure, Myra? She talked about it to many of her friends."

"She would have told me. There was nothing about any kind of business venture."

"Did she have any visitors yesterday afternoon?"

"I do not know, Señor Maverick. Because she was going out to lunch, she gave me the afternoon off. I went to visit my sister, who works for someone else here in the valley. I was not home all afternoon. Maybe if I had been . . . "

"Don't blame yourself, Myra. I don't think your being here would have changed the outcome any." _'But it might have gotten you killed, too,'_ Bart added in his own head.

"It is kind of you to say that, Señor. I will miss Señora Mueller. She was a good lady."

' _That seems to be everyone's consensus,'_ Bart thought, but he didn't say it out loud. "Thank you for your time, Myra. If you think of anythin' else, send Mr. Mel over for me, would you? I'm stayin' at the Busch home."

"Si, Señor."

XXXXXXXX

"That's about it," Bart related to Ginny and Bret as they rode back to the Busch estate. "That explains Mel Bowers reaction to Mrs. Mueller's death. They'd gotten really close the last few months. It must have been tough for him to find her like that."

"Especially since she didn't actually kill herself," Bret added. "So no business venture according to Myra?"

"None that she knew of."

"The more we know, the stranger it gets," was Bret's final remark on the ride back.

"That's what happens when you don't have the Lakota spirit world guiding you," Ginny reminded them, and none of the three laughed.


	13. This is Progress?

Chapter 12 – This is Progress?

"We have no proof, Adolph. At least none that any court would be willing to accept."

"So there's nothing that you can do?" Busch asked, buoyed by the conclusion that Agent Malone had come to, but disheartened by her inability to prove herself correct.

"At the present time, I'm afraid the answer is no. We need something to prove murder rather than suicide. At the moment we don't have it."

"Do you think it's connected to the gambling operation?" Busch's next question.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But if it's any comfort, there's no indication of that so far."

Bart yawned. It had been a long day, and if there was going to be an evening, he required a nap. They really didn't need him around for the question and answer session that was currently going on, anyway. Without being noticed he slipped out of the room and found his way back to his 'guest room.' Time to try the bed out again.

There was no rooster doing his best to be obnoxious this time, and after he'd removed his coat, hat, and boots it only took a few minutes to fall fast asleep. His sleep lacked nightmares, disturbing dreams, and visions of death or destruction. For once, he simply slept. It was almost two hours before he heard footsteps at his door; they were soft and barely discernible, and he fell back into slumber almost instantly. Another hour passed before he stirred of his own volition, and this time he slowly opened his eyes and saw the sliver of light that appeared. He stared at the piece of paper that had been slipped under his door for a full five minutes before he realized there was a real piece of paper there, and not a figment of his imagination. Slowly he rolled to the edge of the bed and then gathered his legs under him until he could stand up. Once on his feet he stumbled just a bit but made it to the paper in three steps and took it back to the bed with him. It was too dark to read until he reached for the oil lamp on the table next to the bed and turned up the flame.

It was small and neat handwriting, probably a woman's. _'It was indeed murder, and I know who committed it. Meet me at eleven o'clock in the beer cellar.'_ Bart almost chuckled to himself. Everyone else might have a wine cellar, but not Adolphus Busch. He had a beer cellar. Bart would try to find it without alerting anyone else to the fact that he was looking for it.

After spending a good thirty minutes wandering the halls, Bart Maverick finally found his way down to the beer cellar. He was almost five minutes late but hoped his mysterious note writer would still be there. The cellar was dark and cool, and it took close to two minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did he saw something he didn't like – what looked like one of the pretty young maids was all curled up on the floor in the corner of the cellar. Now what was she doing there? A cold cellar floor was no place for – he'd gotten no further in his thinking then that when he realized why she was lying on the floor. Someone had bashed her pretty young head in.

He bent down to check for a pulse but found none. How many girls did the Busch's have working here, anyway? Since this wasn't either Marie Claire or Geneviève, the answer was three or more. He backtracked and found his way out of the beer cellar, then quickly retraced his steps until he was at Ginny and Bret's bedroom door. He knocked and got no answer, so he knocked again and kept knocking until he finally heard a mumbled "Minute." Since the request was from Bret he expected his brother to answer the door, but it was actually Ginny that responded. She did not look like she'd been asleep.

"Bart?" she asked as he plunged past her into the room.

"Get dressed, we've got another dead body on our hands." It was then that he saw his brother rising from the bed, bleary-eyed, thoroughly rumpled, and mostly undressed, and realized what he'd interrupted. "Sorry," he told them both. "I just found one of the maids down in the beer cellar."

"Are you sure she's dead?" Bret questioned as he pulled his boots on.

"I'd say no pulse is a pretty good indication that she's dead."

"What were you doin' down in the beer cellar?" That question came from Ginny, tying her robe closed.

"Tryin' to meet the person that slipped this under my door," he answered, as he handed her the note.

"Runnin' a little late?" she asked while reading it.

"Maybe that's why she's dead," Bart told her. "I couldn't find the beer cellar. By the time I got there it was too late."

"Can you two give me a minute to get dressed?" Ginny asked.

"Oh. Oh, sure." Bart left the room with Bret on his heels, buttoning up his vest. "Sorry about the timing."

Bret grinned. "I'll live. Was it somebody we've already met?"

"You mean Marie Claire or Geneviève? No, neither of them. Never saw this one before."

"How many . . . ?"

"Don't know," Bart interrupted. "Here's the note." Ginny had given it back to him, and he now handed it to his brother. Bret read it over quickly and returned it.

"Well, somebody knows who we are. Or knew who we are. Who do you suppose . . . "

Ginny opened the bedroom door, now fully dressed the way she'd been this afternoon. "Let's go see our body." She grabbed Bret's arm as she walked past him, and Bart followed behind.

XXXXXXXX

"Yep, that's dead alright," was the next thing that Ginny said. "Is this the way you found her?"

"Just like that," Bart responded.

Bret had gone to get Adolph Busch, and they arrived at the cellar at that moment. Busch took one look at the girl and announced it was "Simone. She's been here about a year. Sweet little thing. She was going to marry Johnny Dunkirk out in the stables."

"Did you have any problems with her?" Bart asked.

"Problems? With Simone? No, no problems. She was a quiet girl – good friends with Marie Claire. Marie and Johnny will be devastated. Who would do such a thing?"

"Do you know if this is her handwriting, Adolph?" Bart handed the note he'd been left to the beer magnate.

"No, I wouldn't recognize her handwriting. But Lily could tell you. Simone wrote little notes to Lily whenever she needed anything. My wife's in bed asleep. Can this wait until morning? If we wake her she'll be up the rest of the night."

"Of course, we can talk to Mrs. Busch in the morning. But I think we'd best send someone for the police tonight. Chief Mildour, I assume. And I think it's time we let him in on our real identities and at least some of our purpose in being here. I'm sure the Chief can be discreet," Ginny explained.

"Thank you. I'll have Richmond send Dusty Jackson after the police. He's the assistant ranch foreman. I'm sorry this seems to be getting so complicated. But doesn't this serve as proof that Temperance's death wasn't a suicide?"

"It might if Simone were still alive to tell us who was responsible. Now we only have a note from a dead girl." Busch might not be happy about it, but Ginny was right. There was still no proof, and now they had another victim.

"Gun butt?" Bret asked.

"Yeah, looks that way. Doc Whatley can confirm it. When did you get the note, Bart?"

"When I woke up, about ten thirty. It was slipped under the door."

Ginny hesitated. "I'd like to get her body out of here, but we can't. Mildour will want to see her just as you found her. Guess we better lock the door and go up to the study to wait for them. Adolph, it's gonna be another long night, I'm afraid."

Busch shook his head. "I guess I better start getting used to them. At least until this is over."

"I'm afraid you might have to. And we still don't know if this is connected to the problem at the brewery or not," Bret added. He sighed, wondering just what they'd gotten themselves into.

Bart leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Cheer up, Brother Bret. At least you're makin' progress with Malone."


	14. Smelly Feet

Chapter 13 – Smelly Feet

"Agent Malone, glad to finally meet the real you." Chief of Police Ralph Mildour shook hands with Ginny, then Bret and Bart in turn. It was close to three in the morning by the time he'd arrived. "Agents Maverick and Maverick, eh? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Working together or being brothers?" Bart grinned.

"Ha! A sense of humor! Working together, I mean."

"We don't always," Bret explained. "But it suited our purpose on this case. So here we are."

"And keeping you in the dark was my idea, Chief Mildour. Sorry for the subterfuge," Ginny was willing to take the heat rather than have the Police Chief upset with Adolph.

"I certainly understand," Chief Mildour answered. "Hard to investigate something when everyone around you knows what's going on."

"We'd still like to keep it as quiet as possible."

"We'll do our best to accommodate you, Malone. Your reputation precedes you."

"Is that good or bad?" Ginny asked

"Perhaps I should have said your prowess precedes you. That would be more accurate, actually." He turned back to face Bart. "You're the one that found her?"

"That's right, Chief. This was slipped under my door and I did my best to arrive at the right time. That's not the easiest thing to do when you aren't familiar with your surroundin's. My five minutes may have cost Simone her life." Bart handed the note to Mildour.

"Or saved yours," the chief pointed out to him. He took a moment to read the note, then asked Adolph, "Is this her handwriting?"

"Lily can answer that question for you, Ralph. I can't. She'll be up in another hour. Can it wait?"

"Certainly, Adolph. The woman has her hands full enough as it is. This is what? Seven?"

Bart smiled to himself. He was right, there was another Busch on the way.

"Yes, number seven. How are you going to handle Temperance Mueller's death now, Ralph?"

"Well, I agree with Agent Malone. Just because you have a note from someone doesn't mean you have proof. Nothing I can do until we have it."

"And what about Simone?"

"There's no doubt that's murder, Adolph. Agent Malone, I assume you're willing to let the police handle the murder investigations with minimal interaction?"

Ginny nodded. "At this point in time we have no reason to believe that everything is connected, Chief. We're here to ferret out the illegal gambling operations going on that involve brewery personnel. That's our focus, not the murders."

"And the three of you will be available should we need you for anything?"

All three heads nodded. Bart was relieved that he wasn't the focus of the investigation, for once. Since the police were handling the murders, maybe the three of them could get back to the business at hand – the illegal gaming at the brewery.

"Well, if that's settled for the time bein', I'm goin' back to bed," Bart announced. "I suggest you two . . . oh, never mind."

"I've got work to do," Ginny declared.

"Now?" Bret asked plaintively.

"Now," Agent Malone affirmed.

"Bartley Jamison Maverick," Bret growled out, "it's a good thing you're my brother. Otherwise I might have to kill you."

Bart shrugged. "Sorry, Brother Bret. You wouldn't wanna be an only child, would you?"

"At this exact moment? Don't tempt me."

"Boys, boys. Calm down now. I suggest you both get some sleep. You'll feel better." Ginny grinned as she walked away.

XXXXXXXX

Mid-afternoon Bart was awake again, and he'd had enough of bed. He got cleaned up, shaved, and dressed, and walked down the hall to Bret and Ginny's room. He knocked on the door the way he had last night but this time, there was an immediate response. "Go away."

"Are you awake?"

"No, I'm talking in my sleep."

"Are you alone?"

Minutes went by before he got a reluctant answer. "Yes, damn it. Now go away."

"I thought maybe it was time we went to visit some saloons and played bad boys for a while."

There was another minute or so of silence, followed by, "Starting with the Watershed?"

"That's as good a start as any."

"Maybe."

"How long is it gonna take you to decide?"

The guest room door was pulled open and Bret stood in front of him, fully dressed and ready to play poker. "About that long."

"Still mad at me?"

Bret reached out and wrapped his arm around Bart's neck. "Never was mad at you. I was mad at whoever killed Simone. Them I have a bone to pick with. Horses or carriage?"

"Horses. I've had enough carriage, haven't you?" Bart slipped out of his brother's grasp and started to walk down the hall. Abruptly he stopped and turned back around. "Seen Ginny since this morning?"

"Nope. She's kept herself scarce. Maybe she's tryin' to tell me somethin'."

"You're ugly and your feet smell funny?"

"I didn't believe you when I was twelve, I ain't gonna believe you now."

Bart chuckled, almost having to hold his sides to keep from laughing even harder. "You did too believe me. That's why you tried to drown me."

"Drown you? I did no such thing." Pause. Long pause. "That was Cousin Beau. That tried to drown you, I mean."

"He said it was you."

"That was a long time ago, Bart. Way too long to even remember."

"Let's go get the horses, shall we?"


	15. Peace Loving Men

Chapter 14 – Peace Loving Men

It felt right to be back on a horse, just the two of them riding into another town, another saloon, even though St. Louis and the Watershed Saloon didn't qualify as either. This was the big city, and the Watershed could be the beginning of a trail that would lead them to the operation they were looking for – or it could be just a dead-end. Either way, they'd begun to feel like the brothers Maverick on the way in, and not like Pinkerton agents . . . even if it was only temporary.

"You ready?" Bret asked as they dismounted and tied their horses up out front.

"As I'll ever be," came Bart's standard answer.

They walked into the saloon together and immediately felt at home – much more so than they had the last few days at either the Union Plaza Hotel or Adolph Busch's estate. There was too much noise and too much smoke and it was much too loud – and both of the brother's grinned from ear to ear.

"Home," said one.

"Yep," said the other.

They split up then, Bret headed one way and Bart the other. Bret found a poker game right away and sat in; Bart stood at the bar and drank coffee for a few minutes. Eventually he started talking to the cowboy standing next to him. "Always this noisy on a Tuesday night?" Bart asked.

"Mister, it's this noisy every night. You must be new in town. Names Jeb. Jeb Coughlin." He stuck out his hand to shake.

Bart shook Jeb's hand. "Mine's Maverick. Bart Maverick. Yes and no. On the new in town, that is. Been here a few days, haven't been in the Watershed until now."

"It's not your average saloon."

"I can see that."

"Because of the girls?" There was a piano playing and several of the saloon girls were dancing on a small stage at the far end of the room.

"Among other things, yes. And the clientele." Most saloons were a reasonable mixture of cowboys, businessmen, gamblers, drunks, and town fathers. The Watershed, while full of cowboys, gamblers, and drunks, had more than its fair share of businessmen and what might be called the upper-class of St. Louis citizenry.

"Yeah, there are some swells in here, that's for sure. But the games are honest and the liquor ain't watered down. And there's very few fights, so it's a good place for peace loving citizens like you and me."

"Now just how do you know I'm a peace loving citizen?" Bart asked, curious.

"First of all, ya came in here with a relative. Brother, I'd say, from the look of the two of ya. Second, you've got gamblers hands. Well groomed, taken care of. Third of all, you're drinkin' coffee and not whiskey. And last, you ain't heeled, but you've got a shoulder holster under your coat. Which means you're not a gun hand, just somebody that wants some protection. Like I said, peace loving."

"Observant, Mr. Coughlin. And you, sir, are no more a cowboy than I am a rich ne're do well. Federal Marshal?"

"Very good, Mr. Maverick. I had the feelin' when you two walked in that we should meet. Was I right about the brother? And he's a bit older than you, but not by much?"

"A year and five months, to be exact. And I thought I was doing so well masquerading as a society fop. Where did I go wrong?" Bart sighed with exasperation.

"You ran into me. That's the only flaw in whatever your plan is. If you're not just a gambler out to make a buck, who are you workin' for? State? City? County? Pinkerton?"

"Pinkerton, temporarily."

Jeb laughed. "Didn't know Pinkerton had temporary gamblers on the payroll."

"Temporary Pinkerton, not temporary gambler. Doin' a private job for a businessman with a problem."

"It wouldn't happen to be one of Doc Whatley's 'friends,' would it?"

"What if it was?"

"Then I'd tell you to be mighty careful. If it's what I think it is, there's more than just a gamblin' problem goin' on here. That's where I come in." Jeb picked up his drink and drained the glass, and Bart looked skeptically at the amber colored droplets that remained. Unless he missed his guess, what was left in the glass wasn't whiskey. What was the marshal drinking?

"Sarsaparilla?" Bart finally asked.

"Yep. Don't like the taste of whiskey. Can't drink that much coffee. They keep it out of sight, so nobody knows. You are a stickler for detail, aren't you?"

"Just returnin' the favor," Bart chuckled. "So what are we lookin' at? Besides the gamblin', I mean?"

"Counterfeit money. Extortion. Blackmail. Probably murder."

"Definitely murder."

Jeb snapped his fingers. "Temperance Mueller. That was no suicide, was it? Is it connected to the gambling?"

"Haven't found a connection so far. But that don't mean much. The police are handling the official investigation."

"St. Louis City Police?"

"Chief Mildour, yeah."

"Careful. Not sure about Mildour yet. Could be on either side." Another shot glass full of sarsaparilla appeared in front of Coughlin, and Bart's coffee cup had been refilled. "You the agent in charge?"

"Me? God, no. Ginny Malone. Ever heard of her?"

"Heard of her? I've seen her in the flesh. And good God, what flesh it is, too. Is she as good as they say she is?"

"This is the second time we've worked with her. So far, she's been right on the money."

"And Agent Malone is playin' whose wife?"

"My brother's, the lucky dog. I'm just the tag-along."

Jeb chuckled, almost to himself. "I doubt that. Nobody's just a tag-along with Malone around. She don't keep you around if she don't need you."

"So, you workin' somewhere? For cover?"

The marshal nodded. "Workin' out at Redicker's place. Busch's brewery manager? Got in pretty good with the boys out there. Been there about two months. Finally got invited to one of their poker games, goin' this Friday. Heard whispers it ain't in one of the saloons. You heard anything about those yet?"

"Nope. Only been here a few days. Not long enough to get in with anything. That's why we came to the Watershed tonight. See what kind of trouble we could get into out on our own."

Just about that time there was an awful ruckus at one of the poker tables. It was the one Bret was sitting at, and Bart turned his attention to what was going on. It looked like somebody at the table had just won a big pot, and it wasn't his brother. He wondered if that was deliberate on Bret's part. "Sounds like your brother's got his hands full over there."

"Yeah, I better go see what's goin' on. You're stayin' in the bunkhouse at Redicker's, right? How can we get in touch?"

"I'm here every Tuesday night after six. Or I can come to where you are. You're at Busch's ranch, right? Send a message over to me. Sign it 'Billy Manning.' I'll get over there as fast as I can. Everybody thinks I've got an old friend works someplace in St. Louis by that name. If I get a lead on the poker games I'll let you know, so keep a lookout for somethin' from me. You do the same for me. Maybe we can help each other crack this thing wide open."

"You care if I tell my brother and Malone? I won't use your name. Then if somethin' happens . . . "

"Good idea. It'd be nice to have somebody to chew this over with. I get tired of talkin' to myself all the time."

Jeb stood up straight for the first time, and Bart realized they were about the same height. Coughlin was blonder, built bigger, but looked like Bret – solid muscle. He wore a mustache and had a small scar over his left eye. He had no gun belt on, either, but there was the gleam of something shiny in his boot – a knife, probably. Like he'd said before, he was a peace loving man just hankerin' for a little protection. Had their meeting been an accident, or did the Feds know about the Pinkerton investigation the way the City Police seemed to?

Bart tipped his hat and sauntered over towards Bret's table, and from the corner of his eye he saw the marshal head for the front door. Tuesday night's surveillance was over.


	16. The Play's the Thing

Chapter 15 – The Play's the Thing

"Do I wanna know what that cost you?"

"A small investment."

"I didn't mean in money," Bart countered.

"In pride? Nah, you know what Pappy always said about pride."

Bart thought for a minute. "No, I don't remember anything about pride. Remind me."

"He said . . . well, he said . . . oh, I'm sure he must have said something about pride."

"Next time I see him I'll ask him. Anyway, did it do any good?"

Bret shook his head. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to wait and see. But I did get asked back for tomorrow night's game. Looked like you made a new friend."

"Yeah. Federal Marshal. Undercover, just like us."

"The Feds are in on this?"

"Not for the gambling issue. There's a lot more involved than just that. And he warned me off of Chief Mildour. Said it ain't certain which side he's on yet. I know how to reach him if we need to."

The horse's hooves made a clop-clop-clop sound as they walked along the dirt road. The only other noise that broke the stillness of the night air was the chirping of the crickets, and they weren't at full volume this early in the year. Neither of the brothers spoke until they were well past the buildings, shops, and homes that dotted the road back to the Busch enclave. "Cigar?" It was the younger of the two that made the offer, and the older nodded in reply.

Bart lit the first one and passed it over to Bret, who took a long, satisfying draw off the stogie. Finally he pulled out a second for himself and got it going. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"We been in tighter spots. You are gonna tell Malone about the Fed?"

"Of course. Just not who he is, for the moment. That ace is face down, and I'm keepin' it that way."

"Wonder what she was up to all day today?"

"I guess you'll find out if she lets you in when we get back."

Bret blew out cigar smoke and pulled his mount to a stop. "Why wouldn't she?"

Bart slid his watch out of his pocket and stared at it for a good, long minute. "It's two o'clock in the morning, Brother Bret."

"So?"

"She's supposed to be a brand new bride. How do you suppose a new bride would take her husband bein' out this late?"

"You're right. I guess she'll just have to be mad at me. That might actually work to our advantage."

"Guess you're bunkin' with me tonight, huh?"

"Maybe." The clop-clop-clop had turned into a plop-plop-plop as the big, fat raindrops started to hit the dirt road. "Damn. Rain. Let's go." Bret's horse took off like a lightning bolt when he felt the gamblers boot heels nudge his side. Bart's horse was less enthusiastic about galloping in the rain and resisted until something firmer than a nudge encouraged him.

At the brisker pace it only took a few minutes to return to the Busch estate, and the brothers rode straight into the barn before dismounting. Bret shook his arms to get the excess water off of him, and Bart resembled a wet dog trying to dry in a hurry. "Come on, I gotta go face the music."

Bart grabbed his brother's arm. "Pretend this ain't the first time since you got married. She'd be too forgiving the first time. Maybe even the second. It's already happened several times in less than a month. That'd work better."

"You're right. I'm sure Ginny'll go along."

"Sure she will. What woman doesn't love a good fight?"

They ran into the house like a pair of reluctant schoolboys – Bart went to his room, Bret to his and Ginny's. The door was locked, and Bret knocked softly at first. "Sweetie, it's your husband. Let me in."

There was no sound and Bret knocked a little harder. "Ginny, it's me. Unlock the door."

Still nothing. This time his knocking could be heard at the other end of the hall. "Virginia, it's Bret. Open the door for me."

He sucked in a breath and grabbed the doorknob. Time to start the show. The doorknob rattled so hard he was afraid it would fall off, and he raised his voice to one notch below a yell. "Virginia Maverick, open this door! Right now or I'll kick it in!"

That worked. The door was yanked open with the force of a tornado and Bret disappeared behind it. Almost immediately voices were raised and snippets of conversation could be heard, all at a combative volume.

"WHEN I SAY LET ME IN . . . "

"I TOLD YOU WHAT WOULD HAPPEN THE NEXT TIME . . . "

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER, YOU ARE MY WIFE AND YOU DARN WELL . . . "

This went on back and forth for at least five minutes until at last the bride's voice rose above all the other noise. "Get out!" it shrieked. "Get out of here!"

The last command was followed by the sound of a slap, about five seconds of silence and another slap. Then an 'oof' was heard in the room, like someone had been hit hard with a fist, and Ginny screamed, followed by choking sobs and a slamming door. Footsteps crashing down the hall stopped right outside Bart's door, and Bret pounded on it. Silence. "Bart, let me in." Louder this time. "Brother Bart, let me in." The door opened a crack, and murmuring Maverick voices were heard, but the words were quiet and couldn't be understood. Finally the door was opened all the way and in a few seconds it crashed shut with a bang. It would appear that Act Two had been completed.


	17. We Fight, We Make Up

Chapter 16 – We Fight, We Make Up

"That was quite a show you two put on, Brother Bret," was the first thing that Bart told his brother the next morning.

"Was it believable?"

"Oh yeah, plenty believable. For someone that doesn't know you. Where you goin' with it from here?"

"We didn't really have time to work that out last night. Just have to wait and see whether she stays mad at me or forgives me."

"Let's go see if there's food anywhere, shall we?" Bart suggested. "Or at least coffee."

Both still wore the clothes they'd had on last night as they wandered down to the dining room. The room was empty but within seconds of opening the door, Geneviève appeared. "Coffee, monsieur's?" she asked.

"Please, Geneviève," Bart answered. He sat down at the table as Bret moved over to look out the windows.

"Rains stopped," he remarked.

"Of course it did. Don't you remember what Arthur told us about the St. Louis weather? _'If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes and it will change.'_ Looks like he was right."

The maid came scurrying back in with cups and a full pot of coffee. "Breakfast, gentlemen?"

"Yes, please. Whatever's available."

"Bacon, eggs, grits. Anything else?"

"That will be fine, thank you."

Bret turned from the window and caught Geneviève's arm before she could get out the door. "Has Mrs. Maverick been down this morning?"

"No, sir. I haven't seen her." The maid left the room.

"Nice touch," Bart commented after the girl was gone. He poured coffee into both cups and Bret sat down at the table. Within two or three minutes the door opened again, but this time it was Adolph that entered the room.

"Didn't expect to see you up this early after last night," their host remarked.

"Caught that little show, did you?" Bart asked.

"Impossible not to. I must say, you were both quite convincing. Was there a physical altercation in progress? We were too far away to actually hear anything."

"It sounded like one if you were close enough," Bart explained. "I'm sure by lunch everyone will know about it." He took a swallow of coffee and continued. "How about if I come get my tour of the plant today, Adolph? I think we need to leave the newlyweds to try and settle their differences, don't you?"

"That's fine with me. Where do you two go from here?"

Bret spoke up at last. "Well, we've laid the groundwork for me trying to get into the gambling ring. We'll see if this gets us there."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"We'll go on to Plan B, whatever we decide that is."

The door opened, and Geneviève entered with two full plates. "Mr. Busch, sir, may I get you anything?"

"Just a cup, Geneviève. Thank you."

"You sure this is the way to go, Bret?"

Bret shook his head. "No, but it seems to be the best way to approach it right now. Trouble in paradise and all that. Bored newlywed. We'll see what happens. If nothing . . . "

"We can always play _'little brother feeling jealous and in trouble.'_ That usually works. If not, Ginny will come up with something. She's a smart, smart lady."

Just as Bart finished, the lady in question entered the dining room. She was slightly disheveled and red-eyed, like she'd spent the night crying, and had a bright pink welt across her cheek. She checked the room to make sure there was no one else in it and then smiled brightly. "Good morning, all."

Bret looked horror stricken. "How did you . . . I didn't . . . "

Ginny laughed. "Don't worry. I'm quite adept at adding touches with make-up. You didn't lay a hand on me."

Geneviève re-entered the room with an additional cup and another pot of coffee. "Good morning, Madame. May I offer you a cup? And would you like breakfast?"

Ginny's demeanor changed instantly and went from happy and smiling to miserable and gloomy. "Coffee and toast, please, Geneviève." As soon as the girl was gone she was back to her cheerful self. Bret breathed a sigh of relief.

"You just about scared the life out of me. I would never . . . "

"I know. But it has to look real, doesn't it? Are you alright with all this, Adolph? I agree with Bret and Bart, this seems to be the easiest path to pursue at the moment. We'll give it a few days and see if it works."

"I'm alright with it, but poor Lily is just beside herself. Can I at least tell her it's not what it seems?"

"Do whatever you need to. As long as you can do it without spilling the beans about the reason for it."

"Thank you. I'd rather not disturb her any more than necessary at this point in time."

"With the baby, you mean?" Bart asked.

"Exactly. So what's the next step?"

The answer had to wait, as Geneviève entered one more time with a coffee cup and a plate of toast. "Madame." She curtsied and then asked, "Does anyone need anything else?" All four head shook 'no' and the maid took her leave.

"I think we should stay apart for a bit – but not that long. Most of the day, I would think, then we can make up and in two or three days we'll have the same fight when you stay out all night. If that doesn't work we'll try something with Bart. Maybe I can turn to him in my time of crisis. Sound good to everyone?"

"Works for me, as long as we get to make up tonight. Much easier sleeping in the room with you than the room with Brother Bart."

"Hey, I resent that remark. At least I don't snore like you do."

Adolph shook his head. "No one would ever take the two of you for anything but brothers. I give my full support to the plan. But what about Temperance and Simone?"

"I'm workin' on that. I've got another angle to come at it. Ginny, I'll fill you in later. Right now, Adolph, I think we better go see the brewery and let the Maverick marriage stumble along. Don't you?" Bart asked.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Bart. How long do you need to get ready?"

"Thirty minutes and I should be good to go."

"Alright, meet me out front in thirty minutes. I'll have the carriage waiting. Bret, Ginny, happy fighting."

"Thanks, Adolph. See you both tonight."

The two men got up and left the dining room. Bret and Ginny looked at each other for a full minute before either said anything. "You sure that's all makeup? Looks real to me."

"Part of it is," Ginny responded. "I've gotten good at inflicting minimal damage so that I have a base to work with. Sorry I worried you."

"I missed you last night."

"I'm sorry we were interrupted the night before. But Bart did the right thing when he found Simone. That needed to be dealt with first. There's time for us."

Bret looked at her quizzically. "Is there an us?"

Her eyes softened and she smiled slightly. "I think there will be."

Bret looked happier for just a moment. "Then it's worth waiting for. Don't cha think?"

"I do," she nodded. "I do. Now I'm going to see Lily and get some motherly advice. Why don't you go get cleaned up? I'll give you an hour, then I'm coming back to the room. Be done by then, would you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Good luck."

He got up from the table and started to leave. "Oh wait," she pleaded. "What did Bart mean about having another angle to work on the murders?"

"I'll let him explain it to you. He's a crafty little devil, I'll tell ya that. See you later."

"Ciao."


	18. Riverboats, Poker, and Women

Chapter 17 – Riverboats, Poker, and Women

It didn't take him an hour to get cleaned up and he desperately wanted to wait for Ginny to return to their room, but she'd asked him not to and he complied with her wishes. That left him with little to do besides go back to Bart's room and play Maverick Solitaire. Then he had an idea. He'd go into St. Louis and look at the riverboats.

He got a horse from the stable and set off for the city. He hadn't been on a boat since that almost disastrous trip on the Mississippi Bayou Belle, and that had been some time ago. At least he was out of the house in the fresh air, and Ginny could have some peace while he was gone. He rode down into St. Louis, along the river, and was amazed at all the steamboats docked there.

The _Natchez VII_ , the _American Queen_ , the _Belle of Louisville_ , the _Delta Queen_ , and the _Julia Belle Swain_ , just to name a few. The _Bayou Belle_ was there too, currently undergoing repairs. He wondered if Captain Sampson was still on board the Belle.

He finally tied his horse up and boarded the Belle of Louisville, just to wander around the boat and see if anything was happening while it was docked. There were, in fact, several lively poker games going on inside the salon, and after debating with himself for a while he found one to his liking and sat in. The games moved fast, and Bret found himself practically running to keep up. After a while he decided the pace was faster than he liked and he picked up his winnings and sat out. He'd never paid any attention to the riverboats docked before and wondered if they were all as lively while not moving down river.

From there he wound his way down to several of the saloons on the river front. They were all pretty much like the Watershed, newer looking and well taken care of, with long bars, dancing girls and plenty of poker tables and other gaming. Fine if you're in the mood for a high stakes poker game – which Bret wasn't. He was still thinking about the 'fight' that he and Ginny had the night before and worried that it wouldn't be enough of a show to attract the attention of whoever was running the gambling operation. He didn't like fighting with her, even for show, and didn't want to do any more of it.

It was while he was walking around a saloon called Garter Gertie's that he saw someone familiar to him – someone he never expected to see in the middle of the day – Adolph Busch's assistant ranch foreman, Dusty Jackson. He was involved in a poker game that looked, to say the least, intense. Bret stayed out of the way so that Dusty wouldn't spot him and watched for a few minutes. It looked like the game was between Dusty and another cowboy, and the betting had gotten quite heavy. It went on for a while before Dusty called the hand – and lost. All sort of thoughts flooded through the professional gambler's mind – was this the first clue to the illegal gaming operation? Or was this simply an employee sneaking away for an afternoon the boss wouldn't know about?

Dusty looked up from the table and stared out into the people that had gathered around. Whether Jackson saw Maverick or not, Bret couldn't be sure. He turned away from the game and headed for the front entrance, his head making the quick decision to avoid being seen, if it hadn't already happened. He strolled down the sidewalk towards his horse and had almost reached the animal when he heard a voice call, "Mr. Maverick?"

That seemed to settle the question of whether he'd been seen or not, but when Bret looked up he was surprised to see Doctor Whatley and not Dusty Jackson. He let out a breath and answered. "Doctor Whatley, you here in your official capacity?"

"No, sir, just out for some air. I was surprised to see you. Everything all right out at the Busch estate?"

"Relatively speaking, Doc. How's everything with you?"

"Fine, as long as no more dead bodies turn up. Did you come in to see me, by any chance?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope, just wanted to get out and do something, so I saddled a horse and rode into town. Say, what do you know about Dusty Jackson?"

"Adolph's Dusty? Not much more than I know about anybody else. Why? You had some trouble with him?"

The gambler wondered what would make Doc phrase his question that way. "Is there some trouble to be had?"

The doctor joined Bret on the sidewalk so he could talk without shouting. "Dusty's had some problems before."

"With gamblin'?"

Doc nodded. "With gambling."

"Anything to be concerned about, or Adolph Busch type gamblin'?"

"Both."

"Mind tellin' me what you know, Doc? It could be important."

"Alright. But let's go on down to Mollie's and get some coffee, shall we? I'd feel better."

"Sure. Down the street?"

"And around the corner. Come on, I'll show you."

They walked down the street and around the corner. Bret wondered what Doc meant by 'problems' with gambling and was anxious to find out. Just as they got to the front door of Mollie's a boy of maybe ten years old, his cheeks red and breathing heavily, came running up and grabbed Doc by the coat sleeve. "Doc Whatley, you gotta come with me. Momma sent me to fetch you. Pa's awful sick and Momma's real worried, he can hardly breathe. Can you come with me right now?"

The doctor turned back to Bret. "Sorry, Mr. Maverick, it'll have to wait. If Mrs. Lunford is that worried about her husband, I've got to go." He turned his attention back to the boy. "Danny, you run back to my office and get my bag. I'll meet you at your house. Go on along now." He didn't have to tell Danny Lunford twice, and the boy ran back towards Doc's office. Once again the gambler occupied the doctor's full attention. "Come by tomorrow, maybe around the same time, and I'll see what I can tell you. That's the best I can do for you."

"I understand, Doc. I'll be there tomorrow." Bret tipped his hat and watched the doctor hurry off, back up the street. Just his luck, to finally get a lead and have it snatched away from him like that. Well, not entirely snatched away – more like postponed. Since Bret was already at Mollie's he decided to go in and have that cup of coffee anyway.

A piece of cherry pie accompanied the coffee, and Bret was enjoying his abbreviated lunch when he looked up and was startled by what he saw – or rather, who he saw. The man walking through the door was none other than Dusty Jackson. The very same man he'd just missed running into at Gertie's. There was no helping it now – Jackson had seen him and was on the way to his table.

The assistant ranch foreman was not quite as tall as his brother, but was possessed of a slim, compact build just like Bart. Dusty brown hair, probably where he got his name, curled off of his head and left him with an almost angelic appearance. He wore a smile on his face and was well-heeled, wearing a two-gun rig. "Mr. Maverick, I don't know if you remember me, I'm . . ."

Bret shook the hand that was offered him. "Dusty Jackson. I remember."

"I thought I saw you at Gertie's but I wasn't sure. Out visiting some of the local haunts, eh?"

"My kind of place, Mr. Jackson. They have poker, and that's all I require. And you? Are you here on business?"

"No, sir, we alternate taking time off so that nobody gets too burned out. Mr. Busch's idea. Yesterday and today are my days off. And please, call me Dusty."

"If you'll call me Bret."

"Alright, I can do that, Mr. – Bret."

"Looked like you lost that last hand back at Gertie's."

The young foreman smiled and nodded. "I did. Not happy, but I'd already won more than enough to make up for it. You play poker, if I remember correctly."

"I do. I've been known to eat, breathe, and sleep poker, too."

"Really? And with such a beautiful bride."

"Man can't live by love alone. He has to have something else to do with his time. Especially when one interferes with the other. Sit down, Dusty."

The assistant foreman pulled up a chair. "Really? I can't imagine anything interfering with a wife that looks like that."

"But poker is a harsh mistress. Especially when somethin' or someone else threatens her. And she forces you to choose."

Jackson shook his head. "Again, I can't imagine . . . "

"Take my word for it. And before you know it, one of them isn't speakin' to you."

The waitress brought coffee over, refilling Bret's cup and pouring one for Dusty. "Depends on which one that is, I reckon."

"The cards always talk to you. Not so much the women."

"Ah. I see. Sorry to hear that. Isn't it kind of tough bein' friends with Adolph Busch when he's so anti-gamblin'?"

"It can be. But Adolph and I don't see eye to eye about everything. And we still maintain the friendship."

"Well, that's good to know. As long as you can still talk to the cards, huh?"

"That's it exactly, Dusty. Since the women are inclined to go silent on you from time to time."

"I've got some business to attend to. It's been a pleasure talkin' to you Mr. – ah, Bret. Maybe we can play poker together sometime."

"I'd like that, Dusty. Just let me know where and when. I'll be there."

Jackson tipped his hat and left the table. _'Maybe that worked out after all,'_ Bret thought to himself as he watched the cowboy walk away.

.


	19. Truce

Chapter 18 – Truce

It was after supper that the Maverick contingent reassembled in Adolph's office. Ginny had scrupulously avoided Bret all day, and when Bart and the head of the house returned from their day at the brewery, Bret was in Bart's room playing Maverick Solitaire. "You been here all day?" the younger brother asked, but Bret shook his head.

"I've had a real interestin' day, but I don't wanna go into all this twice. See if you can arrange a 'peace' meeting between the warring spouses in Adolph's office. Neutral ground, so to speak, and I can tell you everything I learned." He paused for a moment and looked at Bart. "How was your day at the brewery? Learn anything new?"

"Yeah, I learned I really don't like beer or the idea of workin' for a livin'. How do these people keep from losin' their minds?"

"It ain't easy, Brother Bart. It ain't easy."

"Alright, I'll go negotiate on your behalf. I assume we want to meet without Adolph if at all possible?"

"I think that's a good idea, don't you? At least to begin with."

Bart nodded and left the room. Fifteen or twenty minutes passed before he returned, but at least he came back with a smile on his face. "It's all settled. I'm to be in the office as a _'neutral third party.'_ The three of us will meet after supper and if we want Adolph to join us at some point he will. That alright with you?"

"Sounds good. I want this first quarrel settled, and you'll understand why when I explain my day."

"Good. Supper in about an hour. Wanna play some poker until then? If not, I'm gonna read."

"You must have a new book. What's caught your fancy this time?"

"It's a new type of novel called 'The Moonstone.' It's a detective mystery. Fascinating so far. I must admit to being a little spellbound by it all."

"Go right ahead. I wouldn't wanna keep you from it."

"I'd be just as happy with poker."

Bret shook his head. "No, actually, I'm not much in the mood. Read."

"Alright." Bart settled in with his book and Bret kept right on with the cards until there was a knock at the door. Bart opened it to find Marie Claire smiling up at him. "Supper is served, Monsieur."

"Thank you, Marie Claire. We'll be right down." Bart closed the door and turned back into the room. "You ready?"

"I am. Let's go."

They left the room and hurried down the hall, trying to catch up to Ginny, who was several paces ahead of them. "Ginny, wait," Bret called, but his 'wife' kept walking. She actually walked faster, to appear deliberately avoiding him.

"Give it up, Bret, she's not gonna talk to you yet. At the very least you owe her an apology."

"I've tried to apologize. Multiple times."

"Forget it until the meeting. That's the best advice I've got for you."

The brothers walked into the dining room and sat on the side of the table opposite Ginny. She didn't look at them, just ate what she put on her plate and kept her head down. In fact, there was little talk at the table from any of its occupants. Very obviously it was well known what had happened the night before, and until the newlyweds had either resolved their differences or made the split permanent, there wasn't gonna be much peace between them.

When all three Mavericks were done eating, Bret and Ginny got up from the table and headed for the door. Bart dawdled for another minute and then hastily followed. The dining room remained silent long after they were gone.

XXXXXXXX

"Don't like that," Bret let it be well known he was not a happy man.

Ginny leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "But you play hurt and innocent so well, my love," she giggled as she spun out of his attempted grasp. "Everyone in the house knows what a scoundrel you were last night and how sorry you are today. Wasn't that the whole purpose of the charade?"

"Of course," the gambler acknowledged. "I still don't like it."

Ginny chuckled and sat down next to him, much to his surprise. The expression on his face changed instantly, from one of gloom to a much happier countenance. "Tell us all about your day."

That was all the encouragement it took, and Bret relayed the day's events to the agent and his brother. "I'm goin' back to talk to Doc tomorrow and find out just what it is he knows about Mr. Jackson. Then we can decide where to go next."

"You don't think it was just an innocent poker game," Bart commented.

"No sir, I don't. I believe that Jackson's mixed up in it all somehow. Not as a major player, mind you. But mixed up in it somewhere. He was too friendly once I baited him. Somebody thinks they've found a kindred spirit in me."

"Good. That's what we want. I'm afraid this is gonna get ugly before we get to the end of the road," Ginny remarked. "You up to it?"

Laughter came from both brothers. "Does a deck have fifty-two cards?" Bret asked.

"And does a full house beat a straight?" Bart finished.

"Just checking. I did my part today with Lily Busch. She knows this isn't the first time that we've quarreled over you playing poker and leaving me alone."

"How did she react to that?"

"Doesn't understand a man that would choose a card game over me!" Ginny suppressed another fit of laughter. "How long before it happens again, do you think?"

"I'd say at least a week. We don't want it too obvious. In the meantime, I'll see what I can find out from Dusty Jackson. Brother Bart, you got any ideas?"

Bart nodded. "I'm goin' back out to talk to Mel Bowers. I've got the feelin' there's somethin' more there than meets the eye. I don't know if he was involved, but I think he knows somethin' he hasn't told us. And there's still that new business venture that Temperance had herself mixed up in. Awful suspicious that Myra doesn't seem to know anythin' about it. I wanna know what it was. What about you, Virginia?"

"I think I'll just play 'happy little wife' for two or three days. Then it can all start to fall apart again."

"Oh, good. That sounds like fun. Can I play?"

"Bret Maverick, you are incorrigible."

"Yes, ma'am, I am. Have we been in here long enough now for people to believe we've kissed and made up? Because I seem to recall we were headed towards the kissin' part when everythin' started to get out of hand."

"I think that's my cue to go," Bart offered.

Bret pulled Ginny into a kiss. "Yes, it is, son. Go now. We'll be along shortly."

Bart nodded and smiled. "Some people get to have all the fun." He rose from his chair and left the room, closing the door behind him. Bret picked up Ginny, who was still sitting next to him, and carried her out of the office. Down the hall they went until they reached their room, and Bret reached down and opened the door. He swung in and laid Ginny carefully on the bed, closing and locking the door behind him.

"No interruptions this time," Bret flatly stated, and Ginny just smiled.


	20. Withering Looks

Chapter 19 – Withering Looks

No one saw or heard from the Mavericks until late the next morning, when Bret was finally found in the halls searching for coffee. Edward, taking his role as the second oldest of the Busch children seriously, found him headed for another wrong door and mercifully took him to the dining room, where Geneviève soon provided him with what he was seeking. His face lit up like a tree on Christmas morning, she assumed, rightfully so, that the discord that existed between the newlyweds had been resolved.

Virginia Maverick was seen a few minutes later, and she had no trouble finding the dining room that her husband seemed so woefully unprepared to locate. Again Geneviève came to the rescue, providing both of them with lunch and making note of the fact that there was an extreme amount of laughing and playful sounding noises coming from the dining room, whose door remained closed.

Bart had gotten up late, also, gotten dressed and gone to the stable for a mount. He rode off in the direction of the late Mrs. Muelller's estate and didn't come back to the house until almost suppertime. Adolph was having a business meeting, so everyone was on their own and the Maverick contingent had dinner reservations at one of St. Louis' finest restaurants, the Chez Louis de Maurnier. The three of them were dressed quite elegantly and left for supper around seven in the evening. It was after midnight before they returned home.

XXXXXXXX

They were ushered into the private dining room that Adolph Busch had arranged for them at the Chez Louis and all three sighed with relief for that. Bart ordered a bottle of wine and Bret was in such a good mood that even he had a glass of it before the meal. They ordered the chateaubriand for three and agreed to eat the meat cooked the recommended way – medium rather than the way Bart preferred, well-done. They reached a decision not to discuss anything of importance until supper had been served, to ensure complete privacy.

"A toast," Bart proposed, as they waited for their meal. "To the reconciliation of the newlywed Mavericks. May they remain happy and fulfilled until the husband sneaks off to play poker the next time."

"Now how do you know there's gonna be a next time?" Bret asked, laughing.

"Because there's one scheduled for later in the week?" Ginny countered.

"I suppose that's fair. I wish it wasn't necessary, but I know it is. I just hate the looks I get from everyone in the house. Like I've drowned their kitten or something."

"You have, in effect," his brother reminded him. "Everyone loves Ginny. If you don't believe me, just watch their faces when she walks past them. And you've mistreated her. That's the same as drowning the cat."

"I hate it. But there's nothin' I can do. Not if we want to solve this puzzle. Get anywhere today with Mel?"

"Maybe. He finally told me that Sherman Caulfield was seein' an awful lot of Temperance. And Temperance didn't seem to be too happy about it."

"Why would you see someone if they didn't make you happy? Especially a married man?" Ginny asked.

"I don't think it was 'seein' him' in a romantic capacity. I got the feelin' it was more related to business than anythin' else. Mel is real close-mouthed about it. Like he doesn't wanna say anything that might tarnish Mrs. Mueller's reputation. But if it wasn't romantic, what difference does it make? He's hidin' somethin', or coverin' it up, and I don't know what or why. I'm goin' out to talk to John – I think I might get more information out of him.

"And as for Myra – she insists she doesn't know what Temperance was involved in, but admits there could have been somethin'. There's some people from the church I'm goin' to talk to – maybe they know somethin'. Otherwise I'm at a dead-end. I've run up against a wall, and I'm just not sure where to go next." The younger brother turned to the older brother. "Did you get to see Doc Whatley today?"

"Uh, no. I got delayed by something unexpected and never got out of the house. I'll go in tomorrow. You wanna ride with me?"

"Sure, might as well. Ginny? You make any headway today?" Bart questioned.

"No, I was busy with little things. Lily Busch needed my help with something, and so did Bret."

Time for some good-natured teasing. "Oh? Were the fighting Mavericks busy making up today?" Bret said nothing, just kept his poker face turned towards his brother; Ginny actually blushed. "Dang it, you were, weren't you?"

"That's what everyone was supposed to believe, Bart, so we made sure they did. We stayed in the room and played poker most of the day." Bret did his best to convince his brother that's all there was to it, but Bart knew better. Brother Bret had been way too happy when he and Ginny had decided to 'kiss' and make up the night before. Obviously, something other than just working on the case was going on here. Oh well, Bart had suspected it was only a matter of time before the relationship ignited, anyway. Now the only question that remained was just exactly how far had it gone? And he didn't expect to get an answer to that question.

XXXXXXXX

By the time they arrived at the Busch estate, the hour was quite late for respectable, wealthy diners, which was exactly the impression they sought to give. Just as they pulled onto the grounds Bart asked his brother, "When are you goin' into the city tomorrow?"

"I figured around noon time. We can catch lunch over at Mollie's and then go see Doc Whatley. If we have to wait at least we won't be hungry. I had pie there the other day, and it was pretty darn good."

"Alright. Don't look for me at breakfast tomorrow – I'm goin' out. But I'll be back in time to go with you, so don't leave without me. And you two kids behave yourselves, you hear me?"

Ginny laughed nervously and Bret just nodded. "It's not what you think it is, Bart," Bret insisted to his brother.

"And what do I think it is?" If the look that Bret shot his brother was meant to wither him, it didn't achieve the desired result. Bart Maverick had withstood looks like that for most of his life. It might work on someone not raised by Beauregard Maverick, but it wasn't going to have that effect on his youngest son. There was no verbal answer forthcoming, however, and Bart just laughed. "That's what I thought."


	21. Stealing Hearts

Chapter 20 – Stealing Hearts

A golden sphere had risen in the sky by the time Bart Maverick opened his eyes, and the light was practically blinding him as he rolled over in bed. He hadn't intended to get up this early, but the unfiltered daylight made it almost impossible to return to sleep, even if there was no longer a squawking rooster to rattle your nerves.

He rolled out of bed and went straight to the basin of chilly water that sat on the dresser. Gritting his teeth against the sting of the wet washcloth, he soaped his face and then proceeded to run the razor across his cheeks – wondering once again just what God's purpose was in giving man whiskers that needed to be regularly shaved to look presentable. Not having any more answers to that question today than he did yesterday, he grimaced and wiped the excess soap from his face, then dried himself off with the towel that lay next to the basin.

He dressed casually today, fully intending to blend in with the ranch hands that populated the estates; both the Busch estate and the smaller yet no less lush McGinley spread. There, that was better. The man that gazed back at him looked more like Bart Maverick and less like a Pinkerton agent. Whistling, he set off down the hall, past his brother and Ginny's room, and couldn't resist one loud 'knock' on their door. That'd give Bret something to be aggravated about this early in the morning. He chuckled to himself but was secretly pleased that Bret had finally found a woman more or less his equal in strength of personality and will. Bart wholeheartedly approved of the match, whether he would admit to it or not.

He moved easily down the hall, lithe and graceful as a man of his height could be, and quickly found his way outside. The cool air blew through the trees and his hair, and he settled his hat on his head and breathed in deeply. They had two murders and an unexplained mystery on their hands, but right now it felt good to be in this city, on this day, at this time of the morning. Why a mood this peaceful and pleasant had struck him he had no idea, but he wasn't about to let anything spoil it. Whatever was facing the three of them, they'd work it out. He and Bret always managed to find a way around every problem, every stumbling block they came across. This situation would be no different.

He was still in a buoyant mood as one of the stable hands brought him a horse. He would have preferred to choose and saddle his own horse, but one must preserve the illusion of wealth and privilege, after all. He headed down the same road as the one he'd taken several days ago, toward the McGinley ranch, and found himself actually enjoying being awake at this unearthly time of day.

When he rode up to the house he was pleased to find John already sitting on the porch, drinking coffee. He was greeted with a smile and a hearty, "Good morning, Bart!" and he tied his horse to the rail and took the steps two at a time. "Coffee?" was the next question, and he quickly nodded his ascent.

"You read my mind," he remarked, and shook hands with John as ten-year-old JoEllen came out on the porch, carrying an empty cup. Bart grabbed the coffee pot that snuggled on the table and poured himself a cup, then refilled John's. The little girl smiled shyly and scurried back in the house before her father could notice the way she stared, as smitten as any ten-year-old could be, at the good-looking young man that had just taken the seat next to her pa. It was Bart's first glance at John's 'right hand', as he called her. It wouldn't be his last. "Beautiful child," the gambler remarked, seeing the head full of golden curls and the big brown eyes, with the womanly curve of the mouth just beginning to take shape.

The father laughed. "Yes, thank God she looks like Edna and not me, but she'd be mortified to hear you call her a child. She's quite grown-up, whether I'm ready for her to be or not. I'm sure she was in her usual spot behind the door, ready to jump up and bring me something as soon as she realized I needed it. I'd like for her to be a little girl a while longer, and she's determined not to be. At least she's interested in Pleasure and the rest of the horses and hasn't yet discovered boys."

"They'll be here in droves, trying to win the heart of JoEllen McGinley. I'm sure one of them will."

John laughed, thoroughly amused. "He'd best love horses or he'll stand no chance with her, that's for sure." He took a sip of coffee and then asked, "What brings you out this way this early in the morning, Mr. Maverick? Is this a social call or is there some business afoot at the brewery that I'm not aware of?"

Bart took a big swallow of coffee and smiled, pleasantly surprised. John must buy the same coffee that Adolph did, there was a hint of the Carada bean in this brew, too. "You and Adolph share the same taste in coffee. It's some of my favorite. It's more a social call than anything, John, but I do have some questions I'd like to ask if you don't mind."

"Be happy to answer yours if you'll answer one of mine first."

"Sure, if I can."

"U.S. Marshal or Pinkerton?"

The question didn't surprise Bart in the least. John McGinley was too bright an individual to be fooled by the ruse for long. "What makes you ask that?"

"Several things. You're too intelligent and inquisitive to be a spoiled rich boy. Your mind seems to be going in several different directions at the same time. And your hands. They're elegant and well-groomed, but they've done things in their lives. Work type things. Things that a wealthy man wouldn't have done. And you've had your heart broken, and it's changed the way you look at the world. You're sympathetic and empathetic, not traits primarily cultivated among the wealthy. Shall I go on?"

"Not necessary. You've proven your point. Pinkerton, temporarily. That has to stay between the two of us. Adolph wants everything kept quiet."

"I assume you're investigating the gambling among employees?"

"I thought it wasn't a well-known fact," Bart offered.

"It's not. I know about it because I caught an ex-employee at it red-handed. I'm the one that recommended Adolph go to Pinkerton. Wait – temporarily? You don't work for them full-time?"

"Nope, just specific jobs. That require our particular expertise."

"Which is?"

Bart chuckled. "Can't you guess? Poker."

"You're a professional? A gambler? That explains the well-groomed hands. And the ability to fit in so well with everyone. And is Bret really your brother?"

Bart nodded. "Since the day I was born. And we're really Mavericks, from Texas. That's more than one question, John."

Both of them laughed. "It is, at that. Well, Mr. Temporarily-Pinkerton, ask away. I'll be glad to help in any way I can. I don't feel the same way about gambling that Adolph does, but I respect his right to try to protect his investment. He works long and hard, and the benefits of working for him far outweigh any restrictions. He's a fair man, and a good one. And it's the only thing he asks of his employees."

"Tell me everything you know about Sherman Caulfield and his connection to Temperance Mueller."

"Sherman and Temperance? Are you serious?"

"Very."

The expression on John's face was one of concern, then disbelief. Realization quickly followed. "Of course, you wouldn't know. See, you fit in so quickly with this group that I forget you haven't always been here. Word is that thirty years ago Sherman Caulfield wanted to marry Temperance Deerfield, and Holden Mueller stole her away from Sherman."


	22. Brown-Eyed Girl

Chapter 21 – Brown-Eyed Girl

"Sherman Caulfield and Temperance Mueller? Really? All those years ago?"

"You'd be surprised how unresolved feelings can linger long past the time they should."

No, Bart wouldn't be surprised. He had, after all, spent the better part of his life living in the shadow of his father, a man that still grieved for the lost love of Bart's mother, Belle. He understood perfectly.

"Were there unresolved feelings between them? Or was that just a convenient cover for somethin' else?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know," Bart answered. "Her foreman didn't seem to think there was anything romantic between them. That Temperance wasn't happy in whatever relationship existed. Could there have been somethin' else? Somethin' not related to whatever had or hadn't happened years ago?"

"I suppose anything's possible. I just can't think of what it might be."

"Any possibility of involvement with the gamblin' operation?"

"From Temperance? None. She adored Holden and believed in him completely. And Holden was a big supporter of Adolph's ideas of keeping gambling away from the employees. From Sherman? I suppose anything's possible. But I don't know why he would be – he's got nothing to gain by it."

"Nothin'? Or nothin' that anyone can see?"

John chuckled and shook his head. "You ask a lot of good questions for a temporary Pinkerton man. But I can't give you any answers. At least not to those. Sorry."

"So what was the relationship like between Caulfield and Holden Mueller?"

"Acrimonious, at its best. Downright hostile, at its worst. They kept it civil because they had to. Sherman never forgave Holden, and he never let him forget it."

"Didn't that put Violet Caulfield in an awkward position?"

"You would think so. But surprisingly, Violet and Temperance became good friends. Violet knew all about it, of course, but since Temperance seemed to have no feelings of any kind for Sherman, Violet could live with it. That's another reason I don't believe Temperance had any residual feelings for Sherman. It would have jeopardized her friendship with Violet."

Bart picked up the coffee pot, but it was empty. "Well, we've exhausted your coffee. Another pot?"

"I've got a better idea. Breakfast. Come on in and meet the girls. And Edna would love to see you again."

The smell of bacon floated through the air. "I don't want to put Mrs. McGinley to any trouble."

"What trouble? She's already cooking for six. Another mouth won't make a bit of difference."

"Alright. But I'd like to take the two of you out to dinner some night when this all settles down. How do you eat your steak, my friend?"

"Well done. Why?"

Bart stood and offered his hand to John, pulling him up out of his chair. "I knew I liked you," he chuckled but offered no other explanation.

XXXXXXXX

"That," Bret announced, "would be my brother."

Ginny yawned and stretched, wrapping her arms around Bret's neck and pulling them closer together. "How do you know that?" she whispered as she leaned into him in the bed.

"Because it's something a five-year-old would do. Just about the maturity level of Bart."

"You let too many things bother you," she told him. "He just wants your attention. And most of the time he succeeds in getting it."

He pulled her in close and kissed her. "Have I told you how beautiful you are? And how happy I am to be here with you like this?"

"Yes, to both questions. But I don't mind hearing it again." She'd resisted becoming entangled with another agent at first, but Bret wasn't really an agent, was he? And now that she lay here in his arms, she was profoundly glad that she hadn't listened to the voice whispering 'no' in her ear. The man was warm and passionate, so full of life and so willing to share it with her. They kissed again and she felt the hunger rise in her, and in mere moments they were entangled in another fiery embrace, and all of the murders in all of the world could wait while they lay wrapped in each other's arms.

XXXXXXXX

"I'm four years old," Abigail McGinley announced to the man who had just fallen in love with her. She smiled with her big golden brown eyes and instantly had him wrapped around her little finger. "Will you marry me?"

Bart desperately tried not to laugh. She was absolutely adorable, so solemn and sincere, and he took her quite seriously. "I would be most honored," he told her, and she nodded at him and once again flashed the most brilliant smile.

She was entirely serious as she explained to him, "I'll have to wait for you, you know. You're not old enough to marry me yet." It sounded like something he'd say to her, but it was the child informing the man that she would wait for him to grow up. He chuckled to himself; she had no idea how right she was.

"Abigail, you've bothered Mr. Maverick long enough," her mother told her. "Go run along and find your sister Sue Lynn and leave him in peace."

"More like in pieces," Bart replied, completely enchanted with the child. "Are all the girls like this? Old souls in young bodies?"

"They seem to be," John replied. "We're raising a group of little old ladies. Of course, since Olivia is just a baby there's still hope for her." He got up from the table and picked up the coffee pot. "You didn't do a bad job for a man that didn't want breakfast. If you've got more questions we can go back out on the porch with this."

"Sounds like a good idea. I do have more, but on a different subject." Bart grabbed the coffee cups and turned to Edna McGinley. "Thank you for allowing me to join you for breakfast, Mrs. McGinley. It was delicious."

"Edna, Bart, Edna. Mrs. McGinley is John's mother." She smiled at the good-looking young man, and Bart knew exactly where the girls had gotten their beauty. He smiled back at her.

"Edna. Thank you again. You have lovely children." Bart followed his host back out onto the porch. They sat down and got settled in, Bart setting the cups on the table and John filling them both with coffee.

"So what else do you want to know about?"

"What can you tell me about Dusty Jackson?" Bart pulled out a cigar and lit it, offering one to McGinley. John declined.

"That's a long story. Dusty's worked for Adolph for almost ten years. He started out at sixteen as a stable hand and worked his way up to assistant foreman. He was always hard working and reliable, and Adolph knew he could be trusted. Then he fell in with the boys that played poker regularly, and he was a real good card player. Until he wasn't. Before he knew it he was in over his head and owed one of the saloons quite a bit of money.

"He'd worked so long and so hard, Adolph agreed to pay the bill for him, and he's been paying it back slowly ever since. Only thing is, he agreed not to play any more poker. Anywhere. I suspect he hasn't lived up to his end of the bargain, but he's kept his nose clean and hasn't gotten caught. Yet."

"Bret saw him playin' in Gertie's the other day. Lost a big hand, but it didn't seem to bother him none. Invited Bret to join him some time," Bart explained.

John shook his head. "Saddens me, but doesn't surprise me. Had the feeling the kid wouldn't stay away from it long. Do you think he could be involved with the illegal gambling?"

"Given his history, I'd say its probable, John. At least we've got somewhere to start, now. 'Scuse me, Bret's got somewhere to start. I'm stayin' away from Dusty Jackson. I'm still tryin' to find out what kind of a business Temperance was involved in, and I'm gettin' nowhere fast with that one. You think Edna could ask some of the wives and see if they let anything slip?"

"I'll talk to her and see what she says. Adele's probably the one that would know, if anyone would. Whether she'll tell Edna or not is anybody's guess. But at least we can try. Anything else?"

"Not right now. Guess I oughta get out of here so you can get somethin' done."

"I got some work to do with Master's Pleasure. Why don't you stay? We can ride later. I'd enjoy havin' some company that's more than ten-years-old."

Bart hesitated. He'd really like to, but he had promised to go into town with Bret. "Alright, but just for a couple hours. I gotta meet Bret later. What are you gonna do with Pleasure?"

The two men walked off towards the barn. It seemed like an excellent idea to put the thought of murder out of his mind for a while, and Bart was grinning as they headed for the horse. His deductive reasoning needed some time off.


	23. Soul Man

Chapter 22 – Soul Man

"I don't think we need to go see Doc. Wait until you hear what John told me." Bart stopped his brother from heading to the barn and getting a horse. After spending most of the morning at the McGinley Ranch, the younger gambler had hurried back to the Busch estate to prevent what he felt to be an unnecessary trip to St. Louis.

"Well, let's hear it," Bret encouraged.

"Where's Ginny?" Bart asked before he started.

"She went to see Helena Mueller. Thought it was about time one of us did."

"I do believe your instinct about Dusty Jackson was right on the money." Bart then went on to relay to Bret everything John McGinley had told him. He finished up with, "You need to push your way into that poker game. The sooner the better."

Bret nodded, for once in complete agreement with Bart. "Maybe I can get into Dusty's game without staging another fight with Ginny. If that doesn't work, we can always quarrel. I got an idea. Let's go see if we can find the assistant foreman and wrangle me an invite. You up to chewin' me out over my shameful treatment of my 'wife'?

"A real good verbal knock-down-drag-out? I am if you are."

"Alright. Just remember to make it look and sound real."

"No holds barred?"

Bret nodded. "No holds barred."

There was a breeze in the air that ruffled the leaves, and the singing of the birds in the sun made it a most pleasant afternoon. The brothers talked quietly until they spotted Dusty Jackson and then Bart raised his voice. "I told you not to treat her that way, Bret. You haven't been married that long."

"It's none a your business, Bart, how I treat my wife. If you're so concerned about her feelin's you should have married her yourself."

Jackson and several of the other ranch hands were now watching and listening to the conversation, which had ceased being anything other than a loud argument. "You made sure I couldn't do that."

"And you've been mad about it ever since."

"Did you marry her just to keep her away from me? You surely couldn't have loved her. You're back to carin' more about poker than you do Virginia." Bart had stopped walking and stood, hands on hips, defying Bret to call him a liar. But the older brother wasn't about to do that.

Bret stopped now, himself. "Get this straight, Brother Bart, and don't forget it. I married her. She's my wife. You have no right to tell me what I can or can't do about playin' poker instead of sittin' around and holdin' her hand. So keep your mouth shut."

Out of nowhere a fist swung at the older brother and connected with a loud 'thud' square in the jaw. Bret staggered backward and rubbed his chin but made no move to retaliate. Bart turned on his heel and stalked back to the house, disappearing inside before Bret could change his mind. He stood out in the yard glaring after his brother until Dusty walked up behind him. Bret immediately assumed a defensive stance until he saw who it was.

"Dusty – I didn't know it was you. I guess you heard all that?"

Dusty nodded. "Sorry – it was impossible not to. Sounds like you might have a free evening. Me and some'a the boys are gonna play poker tonight at the bunkhouse. It ain't like sittin' in a fancy saloon but it's gonna be a lotta fun. You interested?"

Bret didn't hesitate. He rubbed his jaw tenderly and nodded his head. "Long as nobody tries to hit me. Where and when?"

"Nine o'clock in the bunkhouse out past the stables. Game could go all night. You alright with that?"

"I'll be there, Dusty. And thanks. Last thing I want to do is spend time in the house with the relatives tonight. Especially my morally righteous brother. Anything I should know before I show up?"

"Nope. I think you'll enjoy yourself. These are good, hard-workin' men that just wanna play poker. That's the only agenda they've got."

"I'll be there. And thanks for savin' my night." With that, they shook hands. Bret headed back for the house, making sure to keep the poker face in place as he continued to rub his jaw tenderly. It had been a long time since Bart had hit him for any reason, and his brother packed quite a wallop. It was his own fault; he was the one that agreed to 'no holds barred.' But it had gotten the desired result. He was playing in the game tonight. He hoped a sore jaw would be worth it.

XXXXXXXX

Ginny was smiling from ear to ear. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and she was wearing clothes that made her feel like Agent Ginny Malone rather than Virginia Maverick. She shook her head in wonder that women could wear those things called dresses and not feel constantly strangled. For the moment she was free and happy, making her way across the valley to investigate something that she knew a lot about – murders.

None of them had met Helena Mueller, better known as Mrs. Horace Waggoner, so this would be a revealing interview. At least Ginny hoped it would be revealing. What a happy and frustrating time this must be for the soon-to-be mother, preparing to give birth to her first child while she mourned the death of her mother.

Ginny was surprised by the size of the house. It was still on the large size, but considerably smaller than most everything else she'd been exposed to since coming to St. Louis. She dismounted and tied up her horse, then climbed the three steps to the front porch and knocked on the door. A young negro girl answered. "Yes, ma'am, you must be Mrs. Maverick. Mrs. Waggoner is expecting you. Please come in."

The house inside was lovely – warm and cozy, despite its size. A large stone fireplace dominated the main room, and even on this beautiful spring afternoon a fire burned. In front of that fire, a rather smallish dark-haired woman of perhaps twenty-five sat in a rocking chair, a pink and blue blanket across her lap. She began to get up out of the rocker, and Ginny stopped her. "Please, Mrs. Waggoner, stay there. I'm Ginny Malone, and I've come to talk to you about your Mother."

XXXXXXXX

"What was that?"

"Did it work?" was the rejoinder from Brother Bart.

"It worked. And it hurt like hell. Did you have to hit me so hard?"

Bart chuckled. "You told me to make it look real. Only one way to do that. It got you invited to the game, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but the game's bein' played here, not at the brewery." Bret was disappointed, and you could hear it in his voice.

Bart wasn't. "That's just the first one, Bret. They've gotta trust you before they'll stick out their necks for you. Give 'em some time. Go play poker tonight, and make 'em wanna invite you back. Make 'em believe that game's more important than anything. Convince 'em there's only room in your heart for one love, and her name ain't Virginia. You know how to do that because it's true. You hafta let 'em into your soul, Bret, if you're gonna sell it. Can you do that?"

Everything Bart told him was true, and the older brother knew it. "I don't have much choice, do I?"


	24. Who Do You Trust?

Chapter 23 – Who Do You Trust?

The sun hadn't come up yet when Bret finally snuck back inside the Busch house. The bedroom door wasn't locked and this time there was no screaming or yelling; in fact, things were pretty quiet by the time he got back to his room. His brother was awake, down at the other end of the hall, but Bart stayed in his room and said nothing.

Ginny was awake, too, which Bret soon found out. "How'd it go?" she asked, and he turned over to face her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered to her softly as he folded her into his arms.

"You didn't. How'd you do?"

"I did exactly what I needed to do – lost big time and had fun doin' it. The boys I played with were real happy to have me. They're playin' again in two nights, and I'm invited. I told 'em I'd be there."

"That's good, right?" He kissed her and she burrowed in against him. She didn't feel so alone with him back in the bed. Amazing just how quickly you could get used to something.

"That's what we want. It won't take long for me to be a regular member. Once I am I can find out how the whole thing got started. Did you find anything out from Helena?"

"I think so. That's why I was awake, going over everything in my head."

"Where's her husband? And what does he do?" Bret ran his fingers down the side of Ginny's face, and she gave a little shudder. Just his touch was enough to make her shiver.

"He's a cattle buyer. He works for a consortium, and he's on his way home from Kansas City right now. Should be here tomorrow. He went on one last trip because Temperance was here to look out for Helena. As soon as he heard about her death, he started back."

"How's Helena takin' all this?"

Ginny's face wore a sad countenance. "She doesn't believe the suicide."

"Do you blame her?" There was a mournful tone to Maverick's voice.

"Of course not. I just can't tell her that – yet."

"How are we gonna play this?" Bret wanted to make sure they were on the same page, at least for the time being.

"I guess I have to be upset with you again. Or maybe I should be upset with Bart for sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong. I heard about the punch – are you alright?"

"Little Brother seems to think you should have married him instead of me. Maybe he's right. I seem to not be the best match for you."

"Ah – the eternal triangle. Maybe that's not such a bad notion. It'd give all three of us an excuse to be upset."

"Do you think that's such a good idea?"

Ginny laughed softly. "I think it's fine, as long as you and I get to make up."

"Like this, you mean?" Bret asked as he bent his head to kiss her. It was a long, slow, deep kiss that left both of them almost breathless. Ginny smiled. The man did know how to kiss, and she was quite pleased to be the recipient of his undivided attention.

"Just like that, Mr. Maverick."

XXXXXXXX

"You played poker with him all night. Can he be trusted?" The woman wanted an answer to her question before the next poker game. If Maverick could be trusted, they'd reel him in, getting him in deeper and deeper with the group until he owed them more money than he had access to. Then they could 'persuade' him that they needed the brewing formula that Adolph Busch kept locked in his safe; the formula that even the brew master didn't possess in its entirety. What choice would Bret have but to steal the formula from his old friend to forgive the massive gambling debts piled up before him and extricate himself from the mess he'd gambled himself into? If he couldn't be trusted, they'd simply allow him to continue playing with their group until they'd wrung every penny out of him that they could, then they'd cut him loose.

It all depended on Dusty Jackson's answer to her question: Could Maverick be trusted? "I'd like to play another night with him before I give you a final answer. I think so, but I wanna be sure. He seems like the genuine article. He's already gonna play in the next game. I'll have an answer for you after that."

She nodded, willing to wait another night. "Alright, we'll wait. We've come this far, another day or two won't matter. But I want an answer about Maverick after the next game. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll have one for you. I believe we'll be able to get what we want from him. And with a lot less trouble than we expected."

"I hope so. It's time that Adolph Busch paid for all of his dreadful mistakes. Let's just hope there's no more innocent people out there that need to be eradicated to preserve our anonymity. Simone I understand. Her elimination was necessary. The girl didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. Temperance I do not understand. Sherman's judgment was severely compromised on that one. Temperance would never have betrayed us." She paused and let that all sink in. "You had another new player. That cowhand from Redicker's ranch. Jeb somebody or other. How'd he fit in? Can we use him for anything?"

"Probably not. Unless you just wanna keep an eye on Redicker. Not much good for anything else."

She shook her head. "I don't think we'll have a problem with Redicker. He doesn't seem to want to insert his nose in where it doesn't belong. That's enough for tonight. Let me know after the poker game Friday. It's time to push forward with this – the beer manufacturers are willing to pay handsomely for the formula Holden perfected before his untimely death. They want to stop Busch before it gets any bigger." She paused for a moment and fixed Dusty with a gaze carved in stone. "And I want my husband back." Adele Mueller smiled grimly. "Before Adolph Busch pushes him into an early grave, right next to his brother."


	25. When This is Over

Chapter 24 – When This is Over . . .

No one noticed that the young husband had moved out of the guest room and into a separate room down the hall from his bride until the next night, when he was seen in the halls going to supper by himself. Virginia was escorted by her brother-in-law, and they sat at the far end of the table and talked quietly among themselves, while Bret sat by Adolph and they carried on their own low-key conversation. The three Mavericks scrupulously avoided each other until the end of the meal, when Lily Busch herself walked Virginia Maverick back to the guest room.

Bart sat silently at the table and waited until he, Bret and Adolph were the only three left in the dining room. Adélaïde brought in coffee and quickly retreated, closing the door behind her. Nothing could be heard at first, but slowly a buzz started in the room and got louder and louder, until shouting was clearly identifiable all the way down to the kitchen. No one was left with any doubts regarding the subject matter of the shouting.

"So I played poker all night. I never left the estate. I was two minutes away the entire time." Bret was none too happy to be questioned and badgered like a three-year-old, even if it was nothing more than a show. His aggravation made it sound all the more real.

"After I warned you not to leave your wife alone for another night," Bart snapped back at him. "Are you stupid? Or just pretending to be?"

"Bret – Bart. Stop it now. You're both in the wrong, and you know it. You told me you were done with gambling, Bret. That you'd settled down and were gonna make a go of this marriage. And Bart – it's really none of your business. Unless Virginia's come to you for help, you've got no right getting into it. You're both behaving like the children we were growing up." That was Adolph, intent on trying to talk some sense into the brothers.

The voices quieted down again, but the damage was done. Everyone in the house knew the truth – the marriage that had seemed too good to be true appeared to be just that – too good to be true. Another fifteen minutes passed before the voices got loud again, but this time they only went on for a relatively short period before the younger brother got up and stormed out of the dining room. The door was slammed shut behind him, and Adolph and Bret could be heard talking.

Bart went straight to Ginny's door and knocked. "Virginia, it's Bart. May I come in?"

She evidently answered in the affirmative, and Bart disappeared behind closed doors. Whatever dissension existed in the dining room remained there, because nothing was heard from the guest room. Another few minutes passed and the two men lingering in the dining room got up and left, and the conversation that continued between them remained calm and peaceful. Finally Adolph clasped Bret in a restrained embrace and they parted, shaking hands, with Busch headed for the private family wing of the house. Bret gazed wistfully at the closed guest room door before sighing and returning to the spare room he'd taken up residence in.

Almost an hour later Bart emerged from behind closed doors and returned to his room, and in less than five minutes Bret was knocking at Ginny's door. "Go away, Bret," could be heard quite clearly, but that didn't stop the knocking or discourage her husband in any way. The knocking continued until Ginny yanked the door open and asked impatiently, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you," was his response. "Please." They stared at each other for long minutes before the young bride moved aside and allowed her husband entrance into the room. The door closed softly and nothing further was heard that night.

XXXXXXXX

Saturday mornings at the orphanage were usually quiet, and this Saturday was no exception. It was the one day of the week the children were allowed to sleep in, and they took full advantage of it. Adele Mueller was there at her regular time, right about sunup, and she wasn't surprised to see Dusty Jackson's horse tied up out front. The Friday night poker game must have run all night again, and Dusty had come straight to see the boss. She was waiting for his final verdict on the 'trustworthiness' of the man they hoped would steal the long sought-after beer formula for them.

It was a matter of survival for Adele, the survival of her marriage to the love of her life, her husband Burnell. He'd been working for Adolph Busch for several years already, training under the watchful eye of his older brother Holden, and life was peaceful and happy. Burnell worked long hours, but he was pleased to be learning how to one day take over as brewmaster while getting a chance to spend time with Holden. They had settled into a comfortable life and were looking forward to starting a family when the unthinkable happened – Holden was killed in a freak accident at the brewery. Overnight their lives changed to one of unbearably long separations and uncompromising pressure. And it seemed that no matter what Burnell did, nothing ran the way it was supposed to, or had before Holden's death.

Adele tried everything she could think of to get her husband back, all to no avail. Busch refused to bring in anyone to assist or run the brewing, placing his complete trust in Burnell. It was a great show of faith on his part and a great burden on her husband. And everything that could go wrong did just that. And then, when she was at her wits end, she stumbled quite by accident upon a potential solution to the problem. It was revealed to her by her former sister-in-law, Temperance Mueller.

Holden had been approached many times by rival beer companies, anxious to 'get their hands' on the formula for Busch's highly successful draft beer that was served in all the St. Louis saloons. When Temperance mentioned the sums of money willing to be paid for the formula, Adele knew she had found a way to reclaim her husband and make his employer pay for attempting to destroy both her marriage and her husband's health and sanity, and to make a lot of money in the process. Enough money that she and Burnell could live out from under the pressure of Adolphus Busch and his beer company.

Adele got out of her buggy and walked into the little office. Dusty was waiting for her and, bless his heart, had made a pot of coffee. He smiled at her and handed her a cup, and she was grateful for the warmth as she accepted it. "Well, Mr. Jackson. How did the poker game go last night? Is it a 'yeah' or a 'nay' for Mr. Maverick?"

Jackson smiled. "I do believe we have our man, Mrs. Mueller."

XXXXXXXX

"Do I have to go back to being mad at you again, Mr. Maverick?"

Bret gave a little laugh. "Yes, my dear, I'm afraid you do."

Ginny sighed. "How is all this losing affecting you? It must be difficult."

A shrug of the shoulders. "It's like playing poker with Bart, and he's dealin' every hand."

This time Ginny understood the reference and the comment drew a small smile from her. "Are you making any headway with them?"

"I think so. Jackson watched every move I made last night, and he looked pleased this mornin' when we were done. Told me the next game won't be on the estate; wanted to make sure I'd be there. Told him I couldn't afford not to be."

"Any idea how much you've lost so far?"

"Yeah. Over twenty-five thousand. Good thing Arthur gave me the go-ahead for whatever it takes." Bret pulled out a cigar and lit it. "Did you talk to Bart last night? Has he got anything to help me?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not last night. He was here before you got in this morning, and filled me in on what the Federal Marshal told him. You playing with a ranch hand from Redicker's named Jeb? That's the marshal. Anyway, there was counterfeit money in the game two nights ago. He's trying to find out who's passing it, so keep your eyes open. Bart's meeting Jeb at the Watershed tonight. Anything you want me to tell him?"

"Yeah, watch out for Jackson. He said somethin' about goin' into town tonight. We need to find out who's behind this operation, but not at the expense of my brother. And what are you doin'?"

"You mean besides mourning what appears to be the death of my oh-so-brief marriage? Going with Lily Busch to see Helena Waggoner. Her baby was born yesterday, and Lily thought it would do all of us good to go over there. Her husband should be home today, so maybe I can get some information from him about Temperance and that business no one seems to know anything about."

There was a knock at Ginny's door and Lily Busch's voice followed it. "Virginia, I'd like to leave in a few minutes. Will you be ready?"

Ginny put her hand over Bret's mouth to prevent him from saying anything. "Yes, Lily, I'll be ready. I'll be downstairs in just a few minutes."

"Good. I'll see you at the buggy. Be sure to bring a shawl with you, it's just a bit chilly this morning."

The footsteps retreated, but before Ginny could move her hand Bret kissed her fingers and pulled her into his arms. "I miss you," he whispered to her before kissing her.

"At least we're making progress."

"Not fast enough. When this is over . . . "

"When this is over I'll go back to my job and you and Bart will go back to playing poker. Let's concentrate on that."

Bret sighed and kissed her again, then let her go. "Alright. If that's what you want."


	26. No Reason

Chapter 25 – No Reason

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do, Virginia?" The question came from Lily Busch, and Ginny knew exactly what she meant.

"Right now, Lily? Nothing. I'm going to do nothing."

"Are you sure that's wise, Virginia?"

"I don't know. But that's all I can do. Until Bret Maverick comes to his senses and quits gambling, that's all I'm willing to do. I can't leave him, Lily – I love him too much. I can only hope that he loves me, too, and finds the strength to quit, like he promised. If he doesn't . . . "

"Well, you're welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Besides, where would you go right now? At least here with us you won't be alone." Lily patted Ginny's hand, hoping to lend some comfort. Ginny managed a wan smile and seemed genuinely touched.

"Thank you, Lily, it's much appreciated, although my brother-in-law has offered to escort me home to Charleston. My brother-in-law. Adolph advised me that I might have married the wrong Maverick – perhaps he's right. Bart is sweet, and patient, and kind, and I know that . . . well, there was a time when he had feelings for me, too. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be swept off my feet. Bart would have no doubt made an excellent husband."

"Yes, I'm sure he would have. But there's one thing you must ask yourself – did you love him?"

Ginny looked startled, as if she hadn't thought of that. "Well, I . . . I cared about him."

"Did you love him?"

Ginny gave a long, drawn out sigh, followed by a soft, "No. Not like Bret."

"Then don't give it another thought. Just stay here with us until you've worked things out. Charleston will still be there if you decide to go back in the future."

"Thank you, Lily. I think I shall, for the time being." She looked out of the buggy and smiled, thinking about their visit with Helena and her brand new baby daughter, named Temperance after her grandmother. For the first time Ginny wondered what it would be like to actually be married and have a child. She almost laughed out loud. Who would she ever find that wasn't intimidated by her? And for just a few moments her mind drifted off to her 'husband,' Bret. He didn't seem at all threatened by her. In fact, he seemed enchanted, even captivated, by her. There was an attraction between the two of them when they first met, on the train bound for Denver, that couldn't be denied. It had only grown stronger since arriving in St. Louis, and there was no more 'playing' husband and wife. They were fully and completely involved with each other.

But what she'd told Bret that morning was true. When this case was over, she would go back to her regular job as a Pinkerton Agent, and Bret would resume being a professional gambler. Or would he? What had he started to say when she'd cut him off? When this case was over . . .

Lily was talking to her again, and she hadn't heard any of it. "I'm sorry, Lily, what did you say? My mind was elsewhere."

Another pat of the hand. "That's all right, my dear. Your husband is a man worth fighting for. I hope everything all works out for you."

"So do I, Lily. So do I."

XXXXXXXX

It was too early to ride into St. Louis and meet Jeb Coughlin, but Bart did it anyway. He was feeling every bit as restless as his brother and Ginny and needed to be someplace that wasn't the Busch estate. Some of that restlessness dissipated when he walked into the Watershed Saloon, but there was still a sense of foreboding stalking him, and he found a poker game to take his mind off things.

He drank coffee and played poker, and three hours passed quickly. Bart was in control of the game from the moment he first sat down until a familiar face joined him at the table – Dusty Jackson. He wasn't surprised; Ginny had given him Bret's warning about the possibility, and Bart issued a friendly greeting. "Mr. Jackson, surprised to see you here. This your day off?"

"Yes, sir, it is, and I'm feeling fortunate. Thought I might come try my luck at the Watershed for a change and see what happens."

Bart snorted somewhat skeptically. "You in that group my brother's been losin' to?"

"He's been playin' with us, yes."

"You know that's gonna cost him his marriage, don't you?"

Dusty looked questioningly at Bart. "Now why would it do that?"

"You mean he hasn't told you? Because he promised Virginia he wouldn't gamble anymore, and here he is back at it. Which leaves her sitting alone by herself. Not a good position for a new bride to find herself in."

"You gamble, too. Why shouldn't he?"

"I'm not married. With a wife that's asked me to quit. I'll take two cards." Bart discarded and picked up his two new cards.

"And if Virginia was your wife and she asked you to quit?"

"I'd quit. I'm not sure Bret can."

"Come on. It's a harmless enough pastime."

"Not the way my brother plays the game."

Dusty gave that answer some thought. Having seen Bret Maverick play and lose for almost three straight nights, the assistant foreman understood what his brother was talking about. Of course he had no idea that the losing was all staged, and what a highly skilled poker player Bret really was.

One of the other players at the table had called, and Bart laid his cards down. A full house, Jacks over fives. No one else could beat the hand.

What was it about Dusty Jackson that rubbed Bart the wrong way? There was something underneath the smiling exterior that gave the gambler pause – a hint of something sinister and untrustworthy. Something that Bret didn't see because of the effort required to lose constantly at a game that he should be so easily winning. Bart fought to control the dislike and suspicion he felt for the ranch hand and forced a smile to his face. He needed to understand just what it was that made him feel that way – and how much Jackson was actually involved in.

Fortunately, help arrived in the form of the Federal Marshal, Jeb Coughlin. "You boys got room for another man?" he asked lazily, and Bart broke out in an actual grin.

"Sure, cowboy, have a seat. Dusty, do you know Jeb? He works for Quinn Redicker."

It took a few minutes for the introductions to get made around the table. Bart pretended not to know that Jeb was part of the poker group Bret had been playing with, and Dusty wasn't aware that Bart and Jeb had already met previously at the Watershed. And there were three other men in the game to make introductions to. Finally the whole group settled back in, and the next hand started.

They played for several hours, Bart winning more than he lost, before it appeared that most everyone at the table had enough for the night. It was considerably quieter in the saloon than it had been when they started, and while Dusty and another friend of his wandered off to the bar, Jeb and Bart sat at the table and drank coffee. "How are things goin' with your investigation?" Jeb asked, and Bart shook his head.

"What do you know about Jackson? I've got the feelin' he's involved in this deeper than I thought he was."

"You're probably right. I've seen him at Sherm Caulfield's place two or three times when there was no reason for him to be there, and he's always got way more money than somebody in his position would normally have. Unless he's winnin' it all at poker and he's the head of the operation." Jeb looked around and brought Bart's attention to the bar. "Jackson's still here. Looks like he's waitin' for one of us. You wanna see which one it is?"

"Sure. You gonna leave or you want me to?" the gambler asked.

"I'll go. You hang on to that money you won tonight – I think there's some counterfeit in there. If so – maybe Dusty Jackson is the front man for the gambling syndicate. But I'd lay odds that Caulfield's involved in one way or another. I'll get in touch in a couple days if it's me he wants to see. You do the same if it's you. Adios, amigo," Jeb tipped his hat and left. His instincts were right, Jackson didn't wait more than two minutes after the marshal left before he was at Bart's table, a drink in his hand.

"You got some time, Maverick? I'd like to talk to you about your brother."

"Sure, Dusty, have a seat. I've got no reason to hurry back. It ain't me that's married."


	27. Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Chapter 26 – Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

"Do you know how much money your brother's lost so far?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. That's none of my business."

"Around twenty-five thousand dollars."

A whistle escaped involuntarily. He couldn't begin to imagine the strain it must have put on Bret, to allow himself to lose that much money deliberately, knowing that he should be winning. "That's a lot of money."

"We're holding his I.O.U.'s for that. Is he good for it?"

"You'll have to ask him that, Mr. Jackson. I don't manage my brother's money."

"What if he's not?"

Bart smiled slightly. "Then I'd say you have a problem."

"Are you good for it?" From the tone of Dusty Jackson's voice, it sounded like the answer he was hoping for was 'no.' Bart accommodated him.

"My brother's debts are his own, Dusty; he's a big boy. If you have a problem with him, you go to him, not me. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, it does. Thank you for your time." Jackson started to get up and walk away, but Bart reached out a hand and grabbed him.

"What are you implying, Dusty?"

"Implying? Why, nothing, Mr. Maverick. I was merely inquiring as to your brother's financial status, that's all. I think that's a reasonable question, considering how much Bret owes the group and me personally. I suppose I should have asked before now, but neither of you seems like the type of man who appreciates being questioned. So, out of courtesy and respect, I waited. Now I have my answer and can make appropriate preparations for collecting what's owed to us. That's all there is to it." The foreman disengaged himself from Bart, tipped his hat, and left.

The gambler sat for maybe a minute, drank the rest of his coffee, gathered himself, and left the saloon. He needed to warn Bret that the wheels had been set in motion and to be on the lookout for anything. As he walked to his horse, he said a silent prayer that everything would work out the way they were hoping, and that nothing unforeseen would go wrong. If it did, Bart would never forgive himself.

XXXXXXXX

"Mr. Caulfield, Mr. Jackson is here to see you. "

"Send him in, Carrie," Sherman Caulfield told Carrie White, one of his housekeepers. She left the room and in just a minute Dusty entered, hat in hand and a grin on his face.

"I hope you have good news, Jackson."

"I think I do, Mr. Caulfield. I passed some more of the counterfeit money tonight at the Watershed. Even got some into Bart Maverick's hands. We're just about to get both of them wrapped up like a present on Christmas morning."

"You've got Bret backed into a corner on the money he owes us?"

"We're close. He owes over twenty-five thousand right now, and he seems to be gettin' nervous about it. And his brother's evasive about the debt. Says that Bret's debts are his own and Bart isn't responsible for 'em."

"Excellent. Seems like we're closing in. I'll be glad when we have the formula and can put Adolph Busch out of business for good." Caulfield sounded desperate and bitter, and Dusty Jackson had often wondered what caused the anger that he carried for Busch. Maybe now was the time to finally ask the question.

"Sherman – why do you despise Adolph so? What did he do to you?"

"Do to me? What did he do to me?" Caulfield laughed, thinking back all those years ago to the beginning of the conflict. "He cost me the affection and respect of the only woman I've ever loved."

XXXXXXXX

Bart knocked on the door. "Bret, open up." He waited, but there was no answer. "Bret, get out of bed and open the door." He knocked on the door again. Still no answer. "Bret, I have to talk to you; get up."

A sleepy voice called, "I'm coming." Finally, the door swung open and Bret rubbed his eyes, obviously having been deeply asleep. "Well, don't stand there, come in. What's so important it couldn't wait?"

"They're gettin' ready to come after you."

"Who, the gambling consortium? Do you know that for sure?"

Bart sat down in a chair and explained everything that happened at the Watershed, including his final conversation with Dusty Jackson, while Bret got dressed. There'd be no more sleeping the rest of this night, and by the time Bart was finished, Bret agreed with him. "You're right, I'm sure. We've got a game tonight. I wonder how much more losin' I'll have to do?"

"That's up to you, Pappy. Depends on how wealthy you want 'em to think we are. They're willin' to come after you for the twenty-five grand you already owe 'em. Wouldn't hurt to let 'em push you a little further down that road."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'm gonna hafta resist breaking into Adolph's safe, ya know. That's not something I should know how to do."

"Just don't give 'em any reason to do anybody harm. I'd like to keep you, me and Ginny all in one piece."

"I'll do my best, son. Watch your back, just in case." Bret was less worried about himself than he was Bart or Ginny. He just wanted to be sure that he was the only one the gambling group went after, walking a fine line between resisting stealing the formula and agreeing to the theft under duress.

XXXXXXXX

"Adele! Adele, where are you?" Burnell Mueller called to his wife, who was nowhere to be found at the moment. He'd only seen Adele two or three times in the last week and was finally losing patience with a job that left him no personal life and little time for anything other than briefly eating and sleeping. Adele appeared around the corner of the room and it was like turning on a ray of sunshine. "I only have a minute or two, but I had to see you," he told her as he gathered her into his arms and clasped her firmly to his chest.

"Burnell, this has got to stop. I don't even know what you look like anymore," she cried, tightening her grip on him. "I fear for your health and our marriage. Please, please promise me this will all be over soon."

He kissed his beloved wife even as he pulled himself away from her. "I promise, there is a respite coming. Just be patient a while longer." He'd argued against the notion for months, that his training was incomplete at best when Holden died, and he needed guidance to keep the brewery producing the beer that had become so popular. Like it or not, he finally had to admit it was past time for Adolph to send for that help, and a fully trained and experienced brewmaster was on the way from the Grand Duchy of Hesse, Busch's own hometown in Germany. Burnell was almost ashamed to admit that he couldn't handle the job that Holden's death had left for him, and he felt like an absolute failure. He allowed Adele to believe that Adolph Busch was the reason he practically lived at the brewery, rather than being honest and forthright with her and admit his training was inadequate.

Meanwhile, Adele was having thoughts of her own. _'Just wait until we've sold the formula and he can quite working for that tyrant. We'll be just as we were before, and Burnell can do whatever he wants with his life.'_

The husband and wife stood in the doorway of their home for long minutes in silence, each praying that their plans would come to fruition, neither aware of the changes that would soon come to pass in their lives. Maybe, if they had known . . .


	28. Fierce

Chapter 27 – Fierce

He had to fight every instinct he had to lose the hand. This was the worst night he'd had playing poker with 'the group', as he'd come to call them, and Lady Luck kept giving him all the right cards at all the wrong times. It galled him to discard everything he'd normally keep, and keep everything he'd normally throw away, and every once in a while he still won a hand, in spite of his best intentions. Yet somehow he managed to dig the hole ever deeper, wider and longer, and by the end of the night he was well over thirty thousand dollars in debt.

They'd played in Sherman Caulfield's bunkhouse, and when the games were over it was sometime after four in the morning. Bret was exhausted, not having gotten a night's sleep in three days, and he sat at the hastily erected poker table with his head in his hands and moaned long after most everyone else was gone.

Dusty Jackson was still there, of course, and Butch Henry (the Caulfield foreman), and Jeb Coughlin was counting his funds and looking intently at the money to see if he could spot anything counterfeit before he left. Butch went outside for one last smoke before turning in and catching a couple hours sleep, and Jeb slapped Bret on the back. "Your bad luck just never seems to end, does it?" Bret looked up and grimaced, then lowered his head back into his hands. "Well, I'm headed out, boys. Next game still Friday, Dusty? Redicker gave the go-ahead for the bunkhouse, so we're all set. Better luck next time Maverick. Adios." Jeb grabbed his jacket and left, and only Bret and Dusty remained.

"Go on, say it," Bret groaned. "I'm a bad poker player. I've got no business in these games. How far in am I?"

"Almost thirty-four thousand dollars, Mr. Maverick. We need to talk about the money. It's gotten out of hand, and it's time for you to repay it."

"Alright. I can have twenty thousand dollars by Friday. It's gonna take me a little longer to get the rest. Next week, sometime."

Jackson shook his head. "No good. We need all of it before you play again. The backers want their money."

"The backers? You mean there's somebody else behind the house money?" Bret tried to make the question sound indignant. Dusty just laughed.

"You didn't think that cowboys and ranch foremen had that kind of money, did you? Of course we've got backers. And they want to see your money before you play again. You have a problem with that?" Jackson watched Bret carefully, and he saw the momentary flicker of panic in the gamblers eyes before it disappeared.

"I'll have it by Friday."

"Good. I'll tell the backers you'll have it here. That avoids a lot of problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"Let's just put it this way – they're not real happy when they don't get their money. You've got too much to lose not to pay up. That sweet lookin' bride – and your brother. Wouldn't want them to get drug into this, now would we?"

Bret allowed that flicker of panic to show itself again before putting it to rest. "There's no need for that; the money'll be here. You have my word as a gentleman."

Dusty gave an odd little chuckle. "I'm sure I do, Mr. Maverick. I'm sure I do."

Almost an hour later Bret rode up to the Busch barn and dismounted, leaving his horse tied outside for one of the stable hands to unsaddle. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew he'd probably have a lot of explaining to do to both Bart and Ginny before he finally got to go to sleep. He stumbled into the house and without thinking went to the guest room that he and Ginny had shared up until a few days ago. He already had his coat, vest, and string tie off before he looked over at the bed and realized Ginny was asleep and he was in the wrong room. "Damn," he muttered under his breath and picked his coat and vest up and dropped them over his arm.

"Bret?" Her voice murmured from the bed, and a hand reached up and found his. "Don't leave."

"Honey, let go. I'm dead tired and I can't stay here."

She pulled him down onto the bed. "Yes, you can. Come here to me."

"Ginny, honey, we're supposed to be fighting. And I've got to get some sleep. Let go of me."

"I don't want you to go." She pulled him close and wrapped herself in his arms, and he reached for her mouth with his and kissed her like he hadn't in days; neither of them was still asleep as they rolled across the bed and held onto each other for dear life. The sun was just about to rise in the sky when they finally gave in to the exhaustion they both felt and lay intertwined, flung across the bed as if it were a life raft adrift on the river, and each was the only thing that kept the other from drowning.

Hours later she woke, with her head tucked under his chin and their hands clasped together, and she felt more deliciously alive than she had since they'd arrived in St. Louis. She snuggled deep down into his embrace and stayed there, willing to let the rest of the world wait a while longer for them to wake completely.

It was late morning before she stirred again, and this time it was to the feel of kisses all over her face and neck. "I shouldn't be here," she heard whispered into her ear, but it only made her smile.

"I know," was her answer. "Don't leave," she added quickly, before he could pull away from her and get out of bed.

"Alright," came his reply, just as quickly. He pulled her close to him and found her lips with his, and they were once again entangled with each other when the knock finally came at the door.

"Ginny, are you in there?"

"Yes, Bart, I'm here," she called out to him.

"Have you seen Bret? He didn't come back last night." The voice was full of apprehension and concern; worried that something had already gone wrong.

"Yes, I saw him this morning. He's alright. Why don't you meet me in the dining room in an hour; I'll tell you what I know."

"Alright. In an hour." Footsteps could be heard walking away from the door; Ginny breathed easier.

Bret untangled himself and sat up in bed. "I have to leave."

The girl sat up next to him. "I know." She rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell him the truth."

He looked at her and a small smile creased his lips. "You didn't lie to him."

"No, but I didn't tell him you were here, either."

"Don't feel so guilty. He didn't ask."

Ginny got out of bed and put on her robe. "Are you going back to your room?"

"I will," Bret answered her. "I think I'll get cleaned up myself and meet the two of you there. Then we can talk about which way this thing is headed. Just in case . . ." He got out of bed and pulled her in close for one last kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me stay this morning. I needed . . . to be here with you. This has been harder than I expected it to be."

She reached up and touched his face. "Only in some ways." She pulled away and walked to the door. "Let me make sure there's no one in the hall." Ginny peeked out and looked up and down before opening the door wide for him. "All clear." Bret slipped out and went back to his room.

At the other end of the hall, Bart leaned back against his own door and smiled. He was pleased his brother was receiving some small measure of comfort from the Pinkerton agent. Ginny was the kind of woman that Bret needed to have around – someone strong and fearless, who could love a man back as fiercely as she was loved. They made a good match, and he was content to know that someone was providing solace.


	29. The Road to Adele

Chapter 28 – The Road to Adele

"I owe them thirty-four thousand dollars. They want it by Friday . . . or else."

"Or else what?" Ginny asked.

"Or else they drag my 'sweet lookin' bride' and my brother into the mess."

"Is that all?"

"So far. This is the first demand. Both of you be careful. I don't want them usin' either one of you as an example of what happens when I can't pay."

"That goes for you, too, brother," Bart reminded Bret. "Don't play games with 'em. Give 'em what they're after."

"I have to put up some kind of resistance, Bart. I can't just roll over and play dead for 'em."

Bart nodded his head. "Yes, you can. There's no sense in gettin' hurt just to find out who's behind this. We'll know soon enough. Ginny, have you made any headway with Helena Waggoner?"

"Some. There was some kind of a business venture, but Temperance soured on it pretty quick, Helena said. Like she thought it was one thing but it turned out to be something else. I think that's all Helena knows. I'm going with Lily to see Adele Mueller today. Lily's worried about her."

"You think it could have somethin' to do with this whole gamblin' thing?" Bret asked.

"I don't know. I don't see how, but Lily seems to think there's something unusual going on. And somehow Dusty Jackson is involved in it."

Both of the brothers were suddenly alert. "What makes you say that?" Bart asked first.

"She's seen them together at least twice, and she can't think of any reason for it."

Bart and Bret looked at each other. "Maybe it's a coincidence," Bart stated.

"An innocent accident," Bret added.

"Maybe it's not," Ginny insisted. "Maybe she is involved in it. But why?"

"See what you can dig up today from Mrs. Busch. There must be a reason, and we just don't know what it is," Bart suggested. "I think I'll go pick Edna McGinley's brain. She and Adele were close at one time. Maybe she knows somethin' we don't. Bret, you goin' in to St. Louis?"

"Yeah, to send telegrams about money. So at least I look like I'm tryin' to get it. Think I'll go see Doc Whatley while I'm there. Let's get together tonight and exchange information, alright?"

XXXXXXXX

"I'm really glad that you're getting out and going with me, Virginia. It's not good for you to stay inside the house and hide."

Ginny smiled. Lily Busch had no idea what was really happening, and yet she'd gone out of her way to be friendly and kind. Adolphus Busch was a lucky man, and the Pinkerton agent determined to tell him so the next time she saw him alone.

"I give you all the credit, Lily. I really do appreciate what you've been trying to do for me. I talked to Bret, by the way. We're not fighting anymore."

Lily reached across the carriage and patted Ginny's hand. "I hope the two of you can work it out, my dear."

Ginny tried to look hopeful. "At least we're talking. That's a step in the right direction, isn't it? Tell me about Adele, Lily. Why have you been so worried about her? Besides Temperance's death, I mean."

Lily Busch reached into her pocket and pulled out a lace bordered handkerchief. It reminded Ginny of a delicate spring flower, and Lily crushed it in her fingers as she worried out loud. "Adele and Burnell were so happy together before Holden died, but it just seems like nothing's been right since that terrible tragedy. Adele has become withdrawn, almost sullen, and nothing seems to sit well with her. I saw her once in St. Louis, at Doctor Whatley's office, talking to Dusty Jackson, and she acted like she was hiding something. What could she be hiding? I know how much she loves Burnell.

"Then the week before last I went to the orphanage – I wanted to see how she was doing after the . . . well, after we lost Temperance. There was a horse I recognized tied out front, Mr. Jackson's horse. They were in her office, talking in hushed voices, and they stopped when they saw me. Adele made some excuse for the meeting and acted nervous and upset. Almost like I'd caught her doing something she shouldn't have. She's a good woman, Virginia, with a heart full of love, but she was distracted and unhappy while I was there. When I left, Dusty Jackson stayed. I'm afraid . . . I mean, I'm worried . . . well, it's just not right. They're up to something, and Burnell is working his heart out . . . Adolph has tried for months to get him to agree to one of the German brew masters coming over to 'right the ship' and Burnell wouldn't hear of it. The good news is Adolph's sent for someone anyway . . . and I want Adele to know that. Maybe she'll stop whatever it is she's started . . . before it's too late."

Ginny's mind was working at a frantic pace. "You're sure there's no reason for them to meet? Perhaps Mr. Jackson is working with the orphanage in some capacity? That would give them . . . "

"No," Lily interrupted. "I checked with Adolph. Dusty Jackson has nothing to do with the orphanage or anything about the children. I was hoping he did . . . "

XXXXXXXX

She watched him ride up to the house, dismount and tie his horse to the hitching rail. She was smiling as he walked up the steps, and held the door open for him. "Come in, Bart, I've got a pot of coffee ready. You just missed John, he went to the blacksmith's. You're welcome to wait if you'd like."

He followed Edna McGinley in the door and removed his hat. "Thank you, Mrs. McGinley, but it's actually you I came to see. We were talking the other day about Adele Mueller and I have some questions about her you might be able to answer."

"Edna, remember? I'd be glad to help in any way I could. And how about that coffee?"

Bart smiled. John McGinley was a lucky man, surrounded by so much female beauty; a wife and four daughters. "Yes, ma'am, coffee sounds great. And thank you. Tell me what you know about Mrs. Mueller, especially her relationship with her husband . . . "

XXXXXXXX

"Well, Mr. Maverick. Haven't seen you in quite a while. How's everything out at the Busch house?"

"Pretty good, Doc. Quiet, for the most part. You and me were gonna have a discussion about Dusty Jackson and his gambling, but there's somethin' else I need to know about."

"What would that be?" Doc Whatley asked.

"Not what. Who. Dusty and Adele Mueller. Tell me what you know about the two of them. Together. Separately. Anything. Is there some kind of a connection between them? Somebody told me they were seen at your office, talking to each other. Do you know anything about that?"

"How much time do you have Mr. Maverick?"

"Time, Doc?"

"Can we stay here at the office, in case somebody needs me? This could take a while."

"Sure, Doc. I've got all the time you need."


	30. In Too Deep

Chapter 29 – In Too Deep

"And that was all she had to say?" Bret asked.

"Just about. Adele insisted that Dusty was helping her plan an expansion of the orphanage, and that's all there was to it. Said he was an orphan himself and wanted to give the children of St. Louis a better place to live."

"Do you believe her?" was Bart's question.

Ginny was hesitant at first but finally answered, "No. But that's strictly instinct talking. I have no solid proof she's lying. And Dusty wasn't there to corroborate or refute her assertion."

"Did Lily tell her about the beer man coming from Germany?"

"No, and I asked her why not. She decided that Burnell should tell her. I couldn't say anything to change her mind, and I wouldn't push her too hard on the subject. What about you, Bart? Get anywhere with Edna McGinley?"

"Edna had a lot to say about Adele. I'm not sure how much is relevant, but listen and make your own decisions . . . " Bart launched into the story that Edna McGinley told him. How happy the marriage was until Holden was tragically killed; the stress and strain put on the two of them by the hours that Burnell spent at the brewery; how Adele gradually became more and more distressed at the time she was kept apart from her husband. Then came the alienation from her friends; her deepening involvement with the orphanage; and the sudden appearance in her life of Dusty Jackson. That's when Ginny stopped him.

"What did she say about Jackson?"

"Nothin' good, that's for sure. Adele stopped goin' to church and quit everything except the orphanage. More than one person saw her with Jackson – at the orphanage, at Doc Whatley's, he even turned up out at the Mueller ranch. She told everyone what she told you today – Jackson's helpin' her with an expansion at the orphanage. Nobody believed her, and the gossip started. That's all it is so far, gossip, but Adele doesn't seem to care. Edna's worried the rumors have gotten to Burnell, and he'll believe 'em."

"Maybe he should. Maybe this is just . . . a neglected wife that some other man's payin' attention to." Even though Ginny was the one that said it, it didn't sound much like she believed it.

"I don't think so," Bret cut in. "I had quite a visit with Doc Whatley. Adele came into his office to get somethin' for one of the orphans, and while Doc was puttin' it together somebody else came in. When he went back to give the medicine to Adele, she and Dusty were sittin' in Doc's waitin' room talkin', and they shut up as soon as he got there. Doc gave her the medicine and they left together, without sayin' another word to each other. The only thing Doc heard was the word 'plan.'

"A week later Doctor Whatley went out to treat another of the children, and on his way there he passed Jackson, who was on his way back from the orphanage. Jackson never said anything but tipped his hat to Doc and went on his way. Doc questioned Adele about the visit and Adele denied that it had even occurred."

"Sure sounds like Adele Mueller and Dusty Jackson are mixed up in somethin' to do with the gamblin'," Bart contended.

"I have to agree. But where does that leave us? We really don't have any _proof_ that they're behind the plan to steal the beer formulas." Ginny might not be happy about the fact, but she was right. There was no physical evidence that either of them was involved, just speculation and innuendo.

"So after gatherin' all this information, we're right back where we started," Bret grumbled.

"Not exactly," Bart insisted. "We've assumed Dusty's involved with the group out to get its hands on the formulas. Now it looks like Adele is involved, too. Jackson's probably in it for the money. But why's Adele Mueller involved? No reason to suspect it's the money, so what's the reason? Something to do with Burnell? But what? Looks like there's only one way to find out, Brother Bret."

"I know," Bret agreed. "Gonna have to go through with this 'I can't pay my debt scheme.' Well, that's why we set it up, so we'd have a way in; just have to follow it and see where it leads. You both need to be cautious. Who knows what they'll try before they push me into the robbery."

"Bret."

He looked over at Ginny, who bore a worried expression on her face. "Yes, Virginia?"

"Be careful."

XXXXXXXX

The next two days passed quietly, slowly, and Bret began to receive telegrams in reply to the ones he'd sent requesting funds. All pre-arranged, all giving some plausible excuse why the desired money would not be forthcoming. By Friday afternoon it became apparent that all of the expected Maverick resources were temporarily, at least, unavailable. Bret strapped on his gun belt and went looking for Dusty.

The Busch estate was a big place, and by the time he located Jackson it was early evening. Dusty was working out in the south pastures, helping one of the ranch hands repair a fence that had all but collapsed under the weight of an unhappy cow. He could tell from the displeased expression on Maverick's face that the news about the anticipated funds arrival was not good. That was exactly what he and the other members of the gambling consortium had been hoping for; Adele Mueller and Sherman Caulfield particularly. It gave them the leverage they'd need to 'persuade' Maverick to steal the beer formulas.

Jackson walked away from the now-repaired fence and waited for Bret to say something. When he finally did it was just what they'd all hoped for. "I have a problem."

"Oh? And what would that be, Mr. Maverick?"

"I seem to be unable to raise the funds I owe. Temporarily, of course. I'm afraid I'm going to need some more time."

"How much time?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure, exactly."

"I'll have to tell the backers. You won't be able to play tonight."

"Come on, Dusty, one more night. I don't want to go into the city to play poker."

"I can't do it, Mr. Maverick. I was given strict instructions."

"Whatever it takes, Dusty, I'll pay it, if you'll let me play tonight," Bret pleaded.

"A bonus fee to play? Of two thousand dollars? Just for tonight."

The gambler shook his head. "Alright. Two thousand dollars. If that's what will get me into the game."

"We need the money by Monday," Jackson insisted.

"Whatever it takes. By Monday, you'll have the money."

Dusty Jackson smiled. Adele and Sherman would be pleased to know they had their thief, and they would all soon be rich. "Monday. Don't forget. It could be very . . . unpleasant if you do."


	31. Billy Manning and the River Queen

Chapter 30 – Billy Manning and the River Queen

Of course there was never any intention of preventing Bret from playing in the Friday night poker game, and this time he allowed himself to win a small amount of money rather than continuing to lose. Hopefully, the prospect of Maverick no longer being quite so heavily indebted to the 'backers' would force the issue of stealing the beer formulas. And by Saturday morning it appeared to be having just that effect.

When Adele arrived at the orphanage she already had company. Sherman Caulfield's buggy was tied up in front, along with Dusty Jackson's horse. "My, my, my, something must have happened last night at the poker game," Adele murmured to herself as her buggy joined the group. She hurried inside and found the men waiting for her, with a pot of coffee already made. "What happened?" was the first thing she asked Dusty, temporarily ignoring Sherman.

"Maverick couldn't get the money, just like we expected," Jackson told her. "What we didn't expect was his winning last night."

"How much did he win?"

"Almost two thousand dollars," came the reply. "So he still owes us over thirty thousand. But I'd already extended his deadline to Monday like you told me to."

Sherman began to say something, but Adele held up her hand. "Go back to the ranch and inform him the backers must have their money Monday; no exceptions, no extensions."

"And when he can't pay?"

"Tell him he does a favor for the backers, or . . . "

Sherman finally got a word in. "His brother pays the price."

Dusty looked to Adele for confirmation. She nodded her head. "If that's the only way we can push him into it, yes. But that doesn't mean kill the brother. Nobody else needs to die. I don't want another Temperance on my hands. Understood, Sherman?"

Caulfield sat there silently, not wanting to get into a disagreement in front of Dusty. Finally he gave in; it was easier than arguing with a stubborn woman. "Fine. I understand. No more murders. It won't take that, anyway; from what I've seen Bret Maverick doesn't have either a backbone or an ounce of courage. Persuading him to do our bidding should be relatively easy."

"Good. I have a lot of work to get done today, gentlemen, so I bid you good day." Adele ushered the two men out the door and closed it behind them. Dusty followed Sherman out to the latter's buggy before saying anything further.

"Do you really believe that? About Maverick, I mean," he asked the older man.

"What, no backbone and no courage? Yes, I do. I think he'll crumple like a wilted flower the first time you lay a hand on his brother. I've seen nothing to indicate any other result. Have it done Monday night. I don't care what you do to force the cooperation, as long as you get it taken care of. But I want a plan in place by Tuesday morning. Once we get our hands on the formulas and bring Busch's brewery down around his knees, we can turn our full attention to the counterfeit money. We will be able to put more of that into circulation by the time the formulas are sold. And once Adele is no longer dictating how we should proceed, everything will go a lot smoother. She's too tender-hearted to make this work."

"You're the boss, Mr. Caulfield."

"And don't you forget that, either. I'd hate to have a second Mueller wife commit suicide."

XXXXXXXX

Bret reached across the bed and pulled Ginny close. Lately he'd developed Bart's habit of lying in bed at night, awake more than asleep, and if he couldn't rest when he closed his eyes at least he could hold this most beautiful creature. He still wasn't quite sure how or why it had happened, but he was beyond pleased that it had, and he intended to take full advantage of every moment he could spend with her. She felt absolutely right and perfect in his arms, and he only wished that he could keep her there.

"Are you awake again?" she whispered, and he chuckled softly in response.

"Why would I want to sleep when I could lay here and hold you?" he asked, more serious than not. "Bart's rubbed off on me, I guess. I keep thinkin' about all the things that could go wrong. If somethin' happened to you . . . "

"You're worrying for nothing. I'm too hard to get to."

They lay together for a few minutes, silent, before Bret finally spoke again. "That's probably true. It'll either be me or Bart. Hope to God it's me and not him."

"Maybe it won't be either of you."

He kissed her forehead and whispered, "I pray you're right."

XXXXXXXX

Monday morning Bart lay in bed and had similar thoughts. He was sure that an attack of some sort would come, and fervently hoped two things – that it would be a minor one, and that it was aimed at him and not his brother. This whole complicated scheme had been harder than anyone thought it would, and Bret had taken the brunt of it. Everyone in the Busch house considered him a scoundrel of the highest order, except Adolph, of course, and treated him with as much disdain as they could muster. He'd wronged the beautiful Virginia; of that everyone was certain, and to top it all off he'd been forced to lose game after game of poker, most of which he could have won quite easily.

Neither of the brothers had given much thought to how complicated flushing out the illegal gambling ring might be. Even after they'd put their heads together with Agent Malone they hadn't expected this much difficulty, and Bart would do almost anything he could to ease the strain that Bret was under.

He decided to see Jeb Coughlin and sent a message to the Redicker Ranch. _'Need your advice._ _Meet me at the River Queen at one o'clock. Billy Manning.'_ Something was about to happen, and Bart wanted Jeb to know everything that could. Besides, the marshal might have heard some useful bit of information, and they hadn't spoken in a week. He'd do almost anything to try and keep Bret and Ginny safe, although the majority of his concern centered on his brother. Soon the gambler was shaved and dressed, and off in search of the dining room and coffee.

Sometime later Bart had a horse saddled and rode off in the direction of St. Louis and the riverfront gambling halls. The assistant ranch foreman watched him go. Dusty Jackson pondered just what he could do to assure that Bret Maverick would give his full attention to the theft of the beer formulas, once he'd proven unable to raise the funds necessary to buy his way out of debt. It didn't take him long to come up with a plan he was sure would provide the leverage the consortium needed. And it probably wouldn't even involve murder.


	32. Forgiveness

Chapter 31 – Forgiveness

"You two are dead-set on busting this thing wide open, aren't you?" Jeb asked, with more than a trace of irony in his voice.

"Of course we are. There's a lot of money riding on breaking up this gambling ring. Not to mention solving two murders." Bart and the marshal were sitting at a table in the saloon on the River Queen, where they'd spent the last hour going over everything that had happened since their arrival in St. Louis.

"I have to agree with you. Sounds like it's all comin' to a head in the next day or two."

"Bret's supposed to have the money for 'em tonight. Won't take 'em long to force him into tryin' to steal the formulas. Probably already have a plan in place." His voice was steady, betraying none of the worry that he felt for his brother and Agent Malone.

"Logical to think you'd be the target of that plan." Coughlin hated to admit it, but he'd bet good money Bart would be the one they'd go after in their efforts to force Bret into carrying out the theft.

Bart nodded. "That's what I'd do, if it was me. Can't really get to Ginny, and they sure don't wanna do anything to hamper their thief."

"Knowin' that it's comin' doesn't make it any easier to deal with. Anything I can do to help?"

A small chuckle escaped from the gambler. "Yeah, keep an eye on my brother tonight, would ya? Just in case we're wrong and they do go after him?"

"Yeah. What about you? Where will you be?"

"Me? I'm goin' back to the Busch estate and wait to see what happens next. No sense bein' a sittin' duck if I don't have to." The bartender came by with the coffee pot and filled Bart's cup, and he waited until they were alone before speaking again. "What about the counterfeit money? Any leads on that yet?"

Jeb nodded and grinned. "There were some engraving plates stolen three months ago, and we haven't seen anything come from 'em until now. Looks like this may be from those plates. It took a while to trace 'cause the theft happened in Denver, and nobody expected the money to surface in St. Louis."

"Any idea who stole 'em?"

"Yeah, we caught the thief, but not until he'd already disposed of the plates. Haven't found out who he sold 'em to, but it must be somebody here in St. Louis. Somebody with money, according to the amount of cash we caught him with. Here's my question, and nobody has been able to answer this yet – if you've got over fifty-thousand dollars to spend on Federal Reserve plates, why do you need them? To make more money? Isn't fifty-thousand dollars enough?"

Bart couldn't help but laugh at the logic behind the question. "I guess it's not, Jeb. Some people just can't be satisfied until they've got more than they could ever spend in one lifetime."

"Anyway, far as we can tell, Dusty Jackson's mixed up with the counterfeit money somehow. We want the man who paid out the fifty-thousand – maybe he's the same one in charge of your end of things. Makes sense, that whoever's involved in one scheme is involved in the other, too. Sure would be nice to get everything all wrapped up together. Not gonna count on it, though."

Bart finished another cup of coffee and knew the best thing for him to do was head back to the estate. "I'll let ya know if anything happens. Watch your back."

"You too, pard. Adios."

XXXXXXXX

Dusty Jackson watched the younger Maverick brother make his way back towards the Busch ranch from atop a well-secluded hill, overlooking the main road out of town. He'd set out that afternoon with a plan in mind but discarded it when he realized there was no way it could be successfully executed. Besides, it would require 'kidnapping' Maverick himself, in broad daylight, and he'd decided that was a chance he wasn't willing to take. Better to wait and make sure that leverage with the older brother was actually needed before running the risk of exposing his part in the gambling enterprise. He'd wait until that night's poker was over and see where they stood – if Bret Maverick was actually the coward that Sherman was convinced he was, nothing more than a minimal amount of persuasion should be necessary. And if Sherman was wrong, more than detaining his brother would probably be required.

Jackson waited until Maverick was out of sight before heading to Sherman Caulfield's spread. There he met with three of Sherman's men and explained the job he needed them to do for him, if it proved necessary. He didn't tell them who the target was yet, just that he would have instructions for them on Tuesday morning. That task completed, he took the back roads and returned to the Busch ranch without anyone being aware of the fact that he'd been gone. The only thing left to do was wait for the Monday night game and see what the next step needed to be.

XXXXXXXX

"Adele, none of this has been Adolph's fault at all. He's wanted to send for a fully-trained brew master all along. I'm the one that insisted I could handle the job."

Adele Mueller sat in stunned silence, unwilling or unable to believe what her husband had just told her. All this time, these months and months of loneliness and solitude, she had blamed Adolphus Busch for her pain and misery. Now to find that all of the suffering was unnecessary, and was caused by nothing more than stubbornness and pride, was almost more than she could bear. "You've put me through this . . . put us through this for . . . for nothing? For pride? Let me think that you were being mistreated and abused, driven to the brink of exhaustion, when all the time it was your own foolish sense of responsibility that caused the separations and misery? How could you do that to me? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" She closed her eyes and for a brief moment saw the face of her dead sister-in-law, Temperance Mueller, and the foolish maid Simone, and knew that two people had died for . . . nothing. She gasped and sobbed at the same time; guilt for the loss of Temperance, an innocent victim in all this, overwhelming her. What had she done? And why had she done it, believing Adolph Busch to be some sort of inhuman monster when all along it was Burnell . . . her beloved Burnell, who had caused all the misunderstandings and pain. At that exact moment she wasn't sure who she hated more, Burnell or herself. It didn't take her long to lay the burden of blame squarely where she was sure it belonged, on her own shoulders.

How could she have been so blind? Why hadn't he told her that the decisions were his, all his, and she would have seen things differently! Slowly, ever so slowly, the thought dawned on her that there was a newly married couple whose very life was crumbling before their eyes, and it was all her fault. If she hadn't been so blind to what was actually going on around her . . .

Finally Burnell answered her. "I . . . I couldn't tell you. I was ashamed that I didn't know enough . . . hadn't learned enough . . . to take over when Holden died. I thought if I worked twice as hard, twice as long, that I could make up for it. But I was wrong, Adele; I was wrong to let you go on thinking it was Adolph's fault. I should have told you. Can you ever forgive me?" She looked into his eyes, and there were tears standing in them. Tears of pain, and bitterness, and humiliation. And in that moment she forgave him, and was left to wonder only one thing – could she forgive herself?


	33. A Reasonably Clever Man

Chapter 32 – A Reasonably Clever Man

"I don't have all the money, Dusty. I got my hands on five thousand dollars. Is that enough to buy me into the game tonight?" Bret stood in front of the foreman, practically begging. Both men knew that Dusty's answer would be 'yes.'

"We need to talk when the game's over, Maverick. This can't continue."

Bret, pretending to agree fully with Jackson, nodded. "Of course. We'll talk."

They played non-stop poker until well past four in the morning. This was a relatively good night for Maverick's poker playing as far as Dusty was concerned; he only lost twelve hundred dollars and actually had thirty-eight hundred dollars to put towards his debt. That still left him short over twenty-six thousand dollars.

"What happened, Maverick? I thought you boys were wealthy."

"We . . . are. Just not cash wealthy. It's all tied up in land and investments. Not easily accessible."

"You've had as much time as the backers are gonna give you. You've got to repay the debt."

"I will, Dusty, I will. I just can't get my hands on it right now."

Dusty sighed and rested his right hand on his gun. "Right now. There's no more time."

It was easy to see because Jackson was looking for it – the look of panic, followed by terror. Maverick knew exactly what the foreman was implying, and Sherman Caulfield was right – the man was afraid. But was he frightened enough to do what the consortium wanted – or would it take more than words to persuade him?

"What . . . do you mean, there's no more time?" Bret took two or three steps backward, away from Dusty and the threat of the gun.

"It's time to pay up, Mr. Maverick. One way or the other. If not with money . . . "

"But I will be able to pay with money, Dusty. It's just . . . it's just gonna take me more time than I expected."

Jackson pulled the gun from its holster and aimed it right at the coward. "You're out of time."

"But I . . . what good will it do if you kill me? How can I repay the backers then?" The sound of unadulterated fear had crept into Maverick's voice, and Dusty almost smiled to himself.

"Oh, I don't think you have to worry about me killing you. You've got a brother, remember? And a pretty young wife? What if something was to happen to one of them?"

"You wouldn't. They have nothing to do with this. Hurting one of them won't do any good."

"Wouldn't I? Or rather, wouldn't the backers? They want to be paid, and if you can't produce the money they'll want some other form of payment."

"Some other . . . what other form of payment is there?"

"A job maybe . . . something that no one else but you might be able to do for them . . . "

The fear seemed to dissipate from Maverick's eyes as it began to dawn on him that there might be a way to get out of this alive and relatively unharmed . . . a way that he hadn't seen before. "What kind of a job?"

"Obtaining somethin' that could prove lucrative – somethin' they might not be able to get their hands on any other way."

Suspicion tinged with curiosity caused Maverick to ask the question. "Stealin'? That is what you mean, isn't it? Stealin' what? And who do I steal it from?"

Dusty didn't waste any time. "The beer formulas in Adolph Busch's safe."

Bret dropped the coffee cup he held in his hands and then dropped himself into one of the chairs. "WHAT?!"

"You heard me, rich boy."

"I . . . I can't . . . you didn't . . . why in the world do you want those?" Shock and disbelief were evident in both the voice and the look on Maverick's face.

"Is that really important? Let's just say . . . there's a fortune to be made."

"By stealin' recipes for how to make beer?"

Dusty shook his head. "No, by stealin' recipes for how to make Adolph Busch's beer. The best sellin' beer in the city. Hell, the best sellin' beer in the state. That nobody can duplicate."

Bret sat there for more than a minute before saying anything. "That would be like stealin' from my brother."

Another shake of the head from the ranch foreman. "Adolph Busch ain't your brother. Would you rather get your hands on his formulas or bury Bart Maverick?"

Bret's head came up sharply and he sucked his breath in. "Bury . . . "

" . . . your brother. That's what I said. Pay in full, steal the formulas or lose your brother. Permanently. The choice is yours."

"You son of a . . . that's a hell of a choice."

"Would you rather lose that pretty little wife of yours?" From the startled expression on Maverick's face, Jackson knew the answer to that question was 'no.' "Then what's it gonna be, rich boy? I need a decision."

Again there was a full minute's silence, as if Bret was trying to decide the least deplorable answer. When he looked up there was a new determination on his face. "I don't believe you. You're just tryin' to scare me into borrowin' the money from somebody."

Dusty did his best not to smile. He finally holstered his gun; he was in control of the situation, and he no longer needed the weapon. "You wanna take that chance with your brother's life? Do I have to prove to you how serious I am?"

The man sitting in front of him sighed and his shoulders slumped. When he spoke his voice was thin and defeated. "No." He got to his feet slowly and took two steps towards the door before turning around. "If I get what you want, then I'm paid in full? No comin' back to me later for somethin' else?"

"You get the formulas and you're paid in full. And your brother gets to keep on breathin'."

"Where are they? Not at the house, surely?"

"No, they're in a safe at the brewery. The safe in Busch's office."

Maverick leaned on the back of the chair he'd just vacated with a bewildered expression on his face. "And just how am I supposed to get into that?"

He couldn't help it, this time Jackson did grin. "You're a reasonably clever man. You'll figure out a way. Oh, and one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I need them by Friday."


	34. Illusion and Reality

Chapter 33 – Illusion and Reality

"Is he here? Is he alright?"

Those were the first things Bart asked Ginny when she opened the door to their room. She smiled, nodded, and beckoned him inside. "He's asleep," she told Bart in hushed tones, who looked about as relieved as a man can look when he's gotten good news.

"When did he get in?"

She pulled Bart over by the window so they could talk without waking Bret. "He was here about six thirty. I don't know what he looks like when somebody's beaten the hell out of him, but I'd say he was pretty close to that when he got here. It didn't take much to convince him to lie down and rest."

"Do you mean . . . "

"No," she interrupted. "He doesn't have a mark on him. But he's certainly been put through it emotionally. Whatever he had to do after that poker game – it must have been brutal. I think he'd rather have taken a beating."

Bart let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sure he would have. Let him sleep, I'm goin' to the brewery to tell Adolph that he's back, and he's in one piece. I won't be gone long. I wanna hear everything that Bret's gotta say before we start plannin' our next move." Unexpectedly, Ginny reached up and kissed Bart on the cheek. "What was that for?" he asked, full of curiosity.

"For worrying about him," she announced. "And for being here for both of us."

XXXXXXXX

"That's good news, isn't it?" Adolph Busch asked when Bart told him about Bret's return and relative well-being.

"For now. I'll know more after I hear the whole story from him. I know how concerned you were this mornin', though, and I thought it best you didn't keep worryin' about him."

Busch took a good look at the man that stood before him and saw that a lot of the tension and anxiety that existed a mere four hours ago had dissipated. "I wasn't the only one worried."

Bart shook his head slightly and laughed. "No, you weren't. And I still am, until I know exactly what happened. But I do feel better than I did before, I'll tell ya that."

"Do you think they made him the offer?" Busch questioned as he poured another cup of coffee for both himself and Bart.

"I'm sure they did. That was the whole purpose of gettin' him in debt to them, wasn't it? So he'd hafta steal the formulas when he couldn't pay what he owed them. Considerin' that he got back to the house unharmed and they've not come after me or Ginny – at least not yet – I'm sure he agreed to their demands. I'll have more news for you tonight, after we've had a chance to hear the whole story and make some plans. Until then . . . "

"I know, don't tell anyone. I promise, I'll be far too busy to speak to anyone about my ne'er-do-well houseguest and his gambling habits. Make sure he's alright, 'eh? We've all invested too much in this scheme to have it blow up in our faces. And Bart?"

"Hmmm?" answered the gambler.

"Take care of yourself and Virginia?"

"I will, Adolph, I will."

XXXXXXXX

Bret opened his eyes slowly to a welcome sight – Ginny lying next to him with her head rested against his shoulder. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead tenderly. She stirred and ever so softly whispered "Bret" without opening her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered back, and the corners of her mouth curled up in a smile. Her lips brushed his, and his thumb traced a line down the side of her face. "You are so beautiful," he murmured to her and pulled her in as close to him as he could. After the strain and brutality of the emotional ride he'd been forced to suffer through with Dusty Jackson, the tenderness and warmth of her in his arms was like a balm to his soul. The fear, the panic, had all been an act, a well-thought-out performance designed strictly to convince the assistant foreman that he would do exactly what was asked of him, steal the formulas. Still, it had required an emotional commitment that was, at best, difficult to maintain. It was such a relief to get back to the house where he could be himself instead of the frightened rabbit he was pretending to be – he didn't realize how much the charade had taken out of him until he no longer had to maintain it. Ginny's suggestion of rest was the right one, and he'd fallen into a deep sleep with no effort at all.

He had no idea how long he'd slept, or what time of day it was. The only thing he was conscious of was the woman in his arms, how soft and warm she felt, how good it was to be holding her. For the first time in days he was peaceful and calm, and for a few minutes nothing troubled him, no memories of the emotional beating he'd endured just that morning. Gradually, as he lay there cradling her body in his arms, his mind began to recall the disturbing state he'd been compelled to inhabit – a state of terror, and panic, fear for his very life and that of his brother and the woman he held so close to him. This man who professed to be a coward, but in reality was nothing of the sort, did his best to control those emotions now as they came back to him again in full force.

Ginny felt him begin to tremble, and her eyes opened in a fraction of a second. She squirmed free of his embrace and wrapped him in one of her own, seeking to reassure him that his state of mind was rooted in illusion and not reality. Gradually the shuddering slowed down, then stopped altogether, and still she held him. He'd paid a terrible price to conjure up the frame of mind necessary to make a believer of the consortium's lackey, and she felt the need to be confident that his emotions were once again under control.

"How are you feelin'?" she whispered as she felt him physically relax in her arms. "Better?"

"Better," he answered, and leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the lips. It was a kiss of gentleness and gratitude, relief that a grueling ordeal had ended. "Glad that's over. I was afraid Jackson might not believe me, but he seemed to. I couldn't take any chances; he threatened you and Bart. Any idea where Bart is?"

"He went to the brewery to talk to Adolph. I saw him earlier, right after you fell asleep. They were both worried about you. Bart was relieved to know you were alright – at least physically alright."

"Did you tell him . . . "

"Just that you were unharmed, but worn out when you got back here. Nothing else."

"It wasn't easy, Ginny. When you have to look and sound that afraid . . . it seeps inside you, and your head believes the fear's real. I was relieved when it was over."

Finally she turned loose her hold on him and pulled back a bit. She stared into his eyes and saw only the man she'd come to know, not the frightened, defeated creature he'd been when she opened the door to him earlier this morning. She hadn't known him that long or that well, but had the distinct feeling she'd caught a fleeting glimpse of the scared little boy he'd been a lifetime ago. That boy was long gone, and the funny, confident man he'd become in the years since had returned. He leaned down and kissed her again, and this time the kiss was filled with yearning, and passion, and she was reassured that the real Bret Maverick was back where he belonged.


	35. Adele Redux

Chapter 34 – Adele Redux

"Well? Do we have a willing participant or not?" Sherman Caulfield sat at his desk and waited for an answer. He didn't wait long.

"Yeah, he agreed to it. After I threatened to kill his brother. He might still need some convincin', but not much. And I only gave him until Friday to get the formulas."

Caulfield lit his cigar and pointed to the chair. "Sit down, Dusty. Have some coffee."

Jackson sat down, picked up a cup from the tray on the desk and poured from the coffee pot. He leaned back and relaxed, knowing that all their hard work was about to pay off. Sherman had figured it would take less than a week to sell the formulas for the popular Busch beer once they had them in hand. Both men were satisfied with what they'd accomplished – they had no idea that a very guilty-feeling lady would attempt to blow their plan sky high.

XXXXXXXX

Adele Mueller had been in a confused and near panic-stricken state of mind ever since she'd been told by her husband who was responsible for the lengthy, arduous hours he'd been working. All along she'd believed that Adolph Busch was a thoughtless, unfeeling slave driver who cared about nothing but the almighty dollar, but she was mistaken. When Burnell explained that he was the cause of the late nights and early mornings, Adele felt more miserable than she'd ever thought possible. What was she supposed to do now?

That's the question she pondered for several days before coming to any sort of conclusion. So many things had occurred that she couldn't fix or take back – Temperance Mueller's death, the marital war that had started between Bret and Virginia Maverick, the scheme to steal the beer formulas from the Busch safe and ruin an innocent man and his business. And what potential destruction had she caused her own marriage? Her beloved husband would never understand the anger and hatred she'd developed towards a man that was entirely blameless of all wrongdoing.

As far as Adele could see, she had only two choices – keep her mouth shut and continue on the path of destruction she was headed towards, or do her best to stop the runaway train her life had become before any more harm was done. Her first instinct was to bring a halt to the theft of the formulas before things went any further, but fear of the potential consequences stopped her. Would she be arrested? Tried for grand theft and criminal conspiracy, maybe even murder? Spend the rest of her life in prison, or would a jury of her peers dare hang a woman?

What if she did nothing, and simply let everything proceed as before? Would anyone even know she was involved? She could forego her share of the proceeds, let Sherman Caulfield and Dusty Jackson keep every bit of the ill-gotten gains. But there were still consequences. A man's business would be ruined, along with a life-long friendship. In all likelihood the Maverick marriage wouldn't survive, and Burnell would be out of a job. Not to mention the guilt she would feel for the rest of her days over her sister-in-law's needless death. No matter what she chose to do or not do, lives would be forever changed.

She had a decision to make, and it wouldn't be an easy one.

XXXXXXXX

Helena opened the door and was surprised but pleased to find Virginia Maverick standing outside. "Ginny, come in." She shifted the baby from her right arm to her left and smiled. "I sent Mathilda into town to get some things for Temperance, so it's you, me and the baby. She left us with fresh lemonade, and if you hold Temperance, I'll get some for us."

Ginny followed Helena into the front room. "You sit, I'll get the lemonade. You've got your hands full." Temperance had started crying softly, and Ginny knew she would be much better at pouring lemonade than quieting a fussing baby.

Helena didn't argue. "It's on the kitchen table. And thank you for getting it." By the time Ginny returned with the lemonade Helena had already convinced her daughter that crying wasn't worth the effort.

"You're so good with her. I'm afraid I'd just be a big bundle of nerves. I've never given much thought to having children." Ginny couldn't explain that the job she had didn't leave any time or room for either a husband or a child, nor was either of those things something she'd ever thought about. Very rarely was there any kind of a man in her life, unlike right now, much less one quite like Bret Maverick. He was smart; he was funny; he treated her like an equal. He was gentle and tender when he needed to be, strong and cunning when that was required. She didn't know quite what to make of him, and found him in her thoughts more often than not. Even after all the time they'd spent together he still confused her.

"What about you and Bret? Have you talked about having a family?" Helena seemed genuinely interested in her answer, and not just making conversation.

"Mmm. We're not speaking of much these days at all. But I didn't come to tell you my troubles. I came to see how you were getting along. Is Horace off on another trip?"

"Yes, but he promised to be home tomorrow. He doesn't want to leave me here by myself much, now that Mother is gone. Speaking of Mother, I found something that you might be interested in. Remember when you asked me about her involvement in business? I was wearing a sweater of hers the other day and I reached in the pocket and found this." Helena pulled out of the pocket of her dress a small, folded piece of paper. She handed it to Ginny, who opened it carefully and looked at it. It was a short note that read, _'Adele – business – Thursday, three p.m.'_

"Is this your mother's writing?"

"Yes, it's Mothers."

"Is there any Adele besides Adele Mueller that you're aware of?" Ginny kept her voice calm and steady, not wanting to alert Helena just how important her discovery might prove to be.

"Not that I know of. I knew most of Mother's friends, and Aunt Adele is the only one I ever heard her talk about. Do you think this might be what she was referring to? What kind of business could she have started with Adele?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know, but Adele swore up and down there was no business to talk about. Do you mind if I keep this? I think I may need it when I go to see her."

"Please, keep it. I hope it helps you. Now, what do you mean, you and Bret aren't speaking of much these days?"

XXXXXXXX

Bart was drinking coffee and reading in his room when there was a knock on the door. Before he could get up the door opened and his brother walked in. "Takin' quite a chance, aren't ya?" Bart asked. "What if I'd had someone in here with me?"

"You'd have locked the door. Besides, who are you gonna have in here? Ginny?"

Bart put his book down and grinned. "Why not? You're not the only Maverick that's devastatingly handsome and charming, ya know."

Bret smiled and closed the door behind him. "Because she's not that kind of woman."

"Well, glad to hear you admit to somethin'. How'd last night go?"

The older brother dropped into a chair. "Last night was alright. This mornin' was not somethin' I'd care to repeat."

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Keep your eyes open, just in case. I'm not sure Jackson was entirely convinced. Ginny said you went to see Adolph."

"I did. He was worried about you, and I wanted to let him know you'd gotten back in one piece."

Bret sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Relatively speakin'."

"Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Nothin' much. Just told me I had three choices – pay the debt, steal the formulas, or let them kill you."

They hadn't wasted any time, just gone straight to theft or murder. Bart couldn't say that he was surprised; there was probably a lot of money riding on those formulas. "Glad you didn't choose murder. Any idea who's behind the whole thing?"

A shake of the head accompanied the answer. "Nope. He was real careful about just callin' 'em 'the backers'."

"You think there's more than one?"

"Yeah, for some reason I do. Just a hunch, though." Bret paused for a moment. "Any idea where Ginny went?"

"Went to see Helena Mueller. Said we could go over everything when she came back."

"When was that?"

Bart pulled out his watch and looked at it. "About three hours ago. You in a hurry to go somewhere?"

"Nope. Just wanna go over this while it's still fresh in my mind." Just as Bret finished there was another knock on the door.

"Well, it's not you, so it must be Ginny." This time, Bart got up and went to open the door. It was, indeed, Agent Malone. "We were just talkin' about you."

She looked from one Maverick brother to another and smiled. "I just came from Helena's house. She showed me something fascinating, something she found in the pocket of her mother's sweater." She pulled the note from her own pocket and handed it to Bart, who scanned it and handed it to Bret.

Bret's eyebrows shot up. "Adele Mueller?"

"That's the only Adele Helena knows. I came back here before I went to see her. Bart, I want you to go with me."

Bart grinned and stuck his tongue out at Bret. "Sorry, Brother Bret, your wife's still mad at you."

Bret looked up at Ginny. "Are you sure? Might not be a bad idea to have both of us there."

"No." Ginny shook her head. "I've got an idea, and I think it'd be better if Bart went with me."

"Alright. But be careful, both of you. I don't trust Jackson."

"Yes, Pappy, we'll be on the lookout for him. You stay here and figure out how to bust into that safe." Bart grinned again but kept his tongue to himself this time.

"We'll talk about that when we get back. We'll be careful, I promise." Ginny took the note out of Bret's hand and put it back in her pocket. She might need it when she confronted Adele. She left Bart's room with the man himself on her heels, while Bret sat another minute or more in the chair before getting up and heading back down the hall.

' _Keep 'em safe,'_ was the last thing he thought as he closed the door to his room.


	36. The End of the Affair

Chapter 35 – The End of the Affair

"Well, Adele, I'm surprised to see you here. What can I do for you today?" Sherman Caulfield was more than surprised; he was stunned to see the woman sitting in his office. Especially after the last meeting they'd had, when she'd been so dismissive of his presence.

"I want out, Sherman," came her reply. "I want out now."

"What do you mean you want out?" He was afraid he knew all too well what she meant, but he wanted an explanation from her. Now was not the time to be jumping to conclusions.

"I don't want anything to do with this formula stealing any longer."

Something drastic had happened; he could see it in her eyes. Whenever they'd discussed the plan before there was anger and determination there; now there was only pain and regret. "I'm afraid it's a little late to back out now, Adele. We're right on the verge of getting everything we've been after."

The look changed to one of sadness, and she shook her head. "I can't be part of it anymore, I was wrong."

"What does that mean, you were wrong? Wrong about what?"

"I was wrong about everything, Sherman, but mostly about Adolph Busch. Most certainly about him."

"Wrong about Adolph? How?"

The woman lowered her head and stared at her hands. There was a mournful tone to her voice when she finally answered. "I blamed Adolph for everything that was wrong in my life. It wasn't his fault at all, and I just found that out. There's no sense in punishing a man for something he isn't responsible for."

"I see." What else could Caulfield say? He needed time to think, time to figure out just what he was going to do about Adele Mueller.

"I think you should stop the whole scheme, Sherman. There's no reason to pursue the matter."

Caulfield cleared his throat. "That's your opinion, Adele. You're not the only one involved here. What if no one else agrees with you?"

"I've thought about that. I don't believe that you should go on, but it's not my decision to make. I'm done with it, though. I don't want anything, no matter what happens. You can keep my share of whatever you make; it wouldn't be right for me to take it. I won't give you any more help, Sherman, but I won't do anything to get in your way, either."

Should he believe her? Could he believe her? Would she keep her mouth shut when all hell broke loose and his whole empire began crashing down around August Busch? Just exactly what had happened to change Adele Muller's mind about her participation in their plan of revenge and financial reward? Had he overstepped his bounds when he became convinced that Temperance Mueller would betray them, and dealt with the problem before it became one?

"You won't reveal the arrangement, or your part in it, to anyone? Is that what you want me to believe, Adele?" He watched her carefully to see how she reacted to his questions, but there was no change in her demeanor. Could she actually intend to keep her mouth shut?

She raised her head and met his gaze. "That's right, I'll not speak to anyone about it. No matter what."

Sherman Caulfield was a practical man. If there was one less participant in the scheme, it meant a bigger payoff for everyone. He'd waited almost thirty years to take his revenge on Adolph Busch, and nothing was going to get in his way now. So for this moment he chose to believe her when she declared she had no intention of doing anything to stop the plan from being fully executed.

"Alright, Adele, I see no reason you should have to remain part of the association if you don't want to. As long as you understand, there's no going back. Once you're out, you're out. You can't change your mind later. Are we in agreement? You're no longer involved with the organization, and you'll say nothing to anyone about it, no matter what happens?"

"You have my word, Sherman. I want to know nothing further about what's taking place." She breathed an immense sigh of relief and stood up. "And thank you. I'll never divulge a word of this to anyone." Adele attempted a smile and settled for a look of resignation. She left the way she'd come in, through the main door to the office, and had only been gone a few moments when Dusty Jackson entered the room through the back side hallway door.

"Sherman?"

Caulfield sat at his desk, watching the exit Adele had used, for another two or three minutes. Finally he turned his head towards Dusty, who had walked across the room and taken the seat she had just vacated. "Yes, Mr. Jackson?"

"Were you serious? You're just gonna let her go like that?"

A slight, sad chuckle issued forth from the board member. "What do you think?"

Dusty phrased his answer carefully. "I think you're much smarter than that."

"A sensibly worded answer, Mr. Jackson. I presume you will take care of the matter for me."

"If that's what you want, Mr. Caulfield."

"It may not be what I want, Mr. Jackson, but it's what's required."

XXXXXXXX

"So you think Adele's got something to do with this whole mess, or just the elusive business that no one seems to know anything about?"

Ginny gave Bart's question some serious thought before answering. "I don't know about involvement with the formulas, but I've always though she knew more than she was telling about the business Temperance was involved with. Those two were close, like sisters, and it just never made sense that Adele didn't know what had Temperance so excited. Maybe we can get her to tell us what she knows now."

"Because of the note?"

"That, and something Helena told me."

They drove on in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Bart finally asked, "Ginny, what about Bret?"

The question wasn't completely unexpected, but Ginny had to wonder what convinced Bart to ask it now. "What about him?"

"You know he's fallin' for you, don't you?"

She chuckled before asking, "Why do you say that?"

He slowed the horse pulling the buggy down to a walk so it would be easier to have a conversation. This was the first chance he'd had in several days to question the Pinkerton agent, and he was anxious to find out what her feelings were for his brother. It was evident, at least to him, that Bret had definitely fallen under the redhead's spell.

"I know Bret. Somethin's changed. The way he looks at you, the things he says. I'm worried that he's thinkin' more about protectin' you than he is about watchin' out for himself."

"I can take care of myself, Bart."

"I know that, Beauty. Bret knows it, too. That doesn't mean he always remembers it. But that doesn't answer my question. When we've found out who's behind this scheme to steal the formula's, what happens then? Have you thought about that?"

"I . . . well . . . no, I haven't really. I just assumed we'd all go back to doing what we do best. My life's in Denver, or wherever Arthur sends me. Yours is . . . wherever you decide to go next. I can't imagine Bret would want anything different."

"I don't know what he wants anymore, Ginny. He's changed. This job's been a lot harder on him than either of us expected it to be."

Ginny nodded. "I know it has."

"What do you want?"

"I . . . haven't given it much thought. I didn't figure there was any reason to think about it. I'll just go back to Pinkerton and Denver, like always."

Bart didn't say anything else, but he urged the horse back into a canter, and in just a few minutes they arrived at the Mueller ranch. "One more thing, before we go in. Don't make any final decisions just yet, Ginny. Things can change overnight."

She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but it seemed reasonable. "Alright, I won't. Let's go see Adele."

Bart helped Ginny down from the buggy and knocked on the front door. It was opened by Adele, who seemed startled to see Ginny and Bart standing there. "Adele, we have some questions we need to ask you. May we come in?"

She didn't say anything, just opened the door wide and stepped aside. Ginny entered, followed by Bart, who took his hat off to their hostess. Adele closed the door and led the way into the sitting room. "What kind of questions?"

Bart remained silent and let Ginny conduct the interview. "Remember when I asked you about a new business Temperance was involved in? And you told me you didn't know of one?"

"Yes. Have you come with the same question again?"

Malone pulled out the note she'd gotten from Helena and handed it to Adele. "What do you know about this?"

Nothing was said as one minute stretched into two, then three. Finally, "Where did you get this?"

"Helena found it in one of her mother's sweaters. Want to explain it, Adele?"

"I . . . I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

Adele turned her back to Ginny and answered in a barely audible voice. "I can't. I don't know what she meant, or why she wrote it. I told you once before, I don't know anything about a business venture. Temperance was my friend, but she didn't share everything with me."

The Pinkerton agent crossed the room and laid her hand on Adele's arm, turning her back around. "Did you know that she'd started seeing more of Sherman Caulfield?"

"What? What do you mean, seeing him? Sherman's married!" There was a look on Adele's face that hadn't been there before, but it was almost impossible to determine if it was fear or disgust. As quickly as it had appeared the look was gone, replaced by a blank stare.

"You didn't know? Helena knew, and she wasn't happy about it."

"There must . . . there must have been another reason. Temperance was still in love with Holden."

Ginny wore a puzzled expression. "Maybe she was going into business with Sherman."

"No, she . . . " Adele blurted out, then caught herself. "I can't imagine that."

"And there was no business meeting between the two of you?"

"No. None at all."

Malone shrugged her shoulders and sighed. Whatever Adele was hiding, there appeared to be no shaking it out of her. "So you're telling me this note is wrong."

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

Ginny turned her attention to Bart. "Maybe we should go talk to Mr. Caulfield. Perhaps he knows something about Temperance's business venture, whatever it was."

"That's not a bad idea," Bart commented, finally breaking his silence. "Maybe he knows something that Mrs. Mueller doesn't."

Adele almost spoke but thought better of it. Then, eventually, "Maybe he does." Ginny and Bart headed back towards the front door, and Adele followed them. Once outside, Ginny couldn't resist one more question.

"You're sure there's nothing else you can tell us?"

"I'm sure, Mrs. Maverick."

Bart helped Ginny into the buggy, then climbed in behind her. As they pulled away he asked, "Do you want to go see Sherman Caulfield?"

"What have we got to lose?" she replied.

Dusty Jackson leaned against a tree at the top of the hill and watched the buggy drive away, headed towards the Caulfield spread. He reached down and pulled out his Colt, checking to make sure it was loaded. When the buggy was out of sight he mounted his horse and headed, slowly and carefully, down the hill towards the Mueller house. Bart and Ginny were several miles away by the time Dusty reached his destination, too far to hear the muffled gunshot when it came.


	37. The Last of Adele

Chapter 36 – The Last of Adele

"It's taken care of," Dusty reported to Caulfield as soon as he saw the buggy drive away. "I got rid of the body, too. Let 'em wonder what happened to her. No sense givin' 'em another murder to investigate."

"Good. Maybe it's time to do something with the nosy nellies that just left here, too."

"What did they want, anyway?"

"Found some kind of a note in Temperance's handwriting about a business meeting with Adele. She denied knowing anything about it, so they came to see what they could get out of me." Sherman looked at Dusty with gratitude and just a touch of regret. "At least we don't have to worry about Adele opening her mouth anymore."

"Don't you wanna wait till after Friday when we get the formulas to take care of those two? Just so we've still got some leverage over Maverick?" It was a point well-taken, and something that Sherman hadn't given much thought to.

"You're right. No use throwing away our insurance policy when we might need it later. Let's see if we can make it until Friday and get what we've been after all this time. Then you can get rid of all three of them. Or maybe you won't have to. Maybe our patsy will just slink off when he's off the hook, and take the wife with him."

"That still leaves the brother."

"Easier to kill one than three," Caulfield replied.

XXXXXXXX

"He was lying." There was no doubt or hesitation in the statement; Mavericks knew a liar when they encountered one.

"You're sure?" Ginny probably should have believed Bart without question, but she needed his assurance that Sherman Caulfield was involved in the whole scheme they'd begun to uncover.

"Sure as my name's Bart Maverick."

"Do we have any way to prove it without Bret turning over the fake formulas?"

Bart chuckled. "No, Beauty, we don't. I'm afraid he's gonna hafta play the part that's been written for him."

A loud sigh accompanied Ginny's response. "I was afraid of that." She paused for a moment, thinking out their next move. "Bart, go back to Adele Mueller's house. I have an idea."

At this point he was willing to try anything. "Alright." He turned the buggy back around and headed, for the second time that day, to the Mueller residence. When they arrived everything looked the same as it had earlier, but Bart was wary and on edge. "Somethin's not right, Beauty," he told Agent Malone as he helped her down. Ginny knocked on the door and got no answer. She waited a few minutes and then knocked again, but there was still no response. "You got your gun with you?" Malone nodded and pulled out the Peacemaker. "Good. I'm goin' to check the barn. Stay here and stay safe."

She watched him move towards the barn, then turned and tried the door. It opened, and Ginny walked into the house. "Adele!" she called out, but everything was silent. "Adele, it's Ginny Maverick. Are you here?" The agent found herself in the kitchen, where nothing seemed unusual or out of place. Then she noticed a small drop of something on the floor, and she bent to take a closer look. It was black and sticky, and Ginny came to the only possible conclusion. The drop was blood.

"Ginny!" Bart called from the front of the house. "Where are you?"

"Out here, Bart, in the kitchen." She stood up and waited for him to appear. "I found something."

Ginny pointed to the floor and Bart's eyes followed her hand. He stooped as she had, then carefully touched the spot. "Blood?"

"Yes. What did you find in the barn?"

"Nothin' outta place. The horses are there, the buggy's still there. It's like she just vanished."

"Or someone made her vanish," Malone clarified. "You think somebody was waitin' for us to leave earlier?"

The gambler nodded. "Think we mighta seen the last of Adele Mueller. Let's check upstairs, just to be certain she's not here." They searched the rest of the house but found no further trace of the missing woman. When the search was completed, they both returned to the kitchen.

"I guess we better go see Chief Mildour. Maybe he can turn up some answers."

"Or not," Bart added as he helped Ginny back into the buggy. Without further hesitation he headed the buggy for St. Louis.

XXXXXXXX

It was late that evening before everything was once again quiet. Chief of Police Mildour and his officers had returned to St. Louis after investigating the Mueller house and talking to Bart and Ginny. Burnell Mueller had fallen apart when he was called to the Busch estate and informed of his wife's disappearance. Adolph insisted that Burnell remain at the house and wouldn't let him return to the brewery; Doc Whatley finally came out and sedated the presumed widower. As he drifted off to sleep Burnell kept insisting that he was the cause of whatever had happened to his beloved Adele.

When the three 'detectives' were alone, Bret asked the question that was on everyone's mind – "Any idea what Burnell's talkin' about?"

"Something was goin' on between him and Adele that he blamed himself for," Ginny volunteered. "Lily Busch told me that much, but it's all she knows. We're gonna hafta get the rest from Burnell."

"We may not have answers, but I'd say the disappearance confirms suspicions," Bart stated.

"About Adele bein' mixed up in all this somehow?" Bret asked.

"I'd say so," the younger brother answered. "Somebody was watchin' the house, and when we left they saw their chance and took it."

"Mr. Jackson, possibly?"

Bart turned to his brother. "Was Dusty here anywhere?" After Bart and Ginny left for the Mueller house, Bret had taken a horse out on the pretense of riding.

Bret was quick to answer. "I never saw him. But remember, that doesn't prove anything. It is a big estate."

"We've got to find out who's behind this, Bret. Any ideas?" Ginny had a hopeful look on her face as she asked the question. Ever so slowly one of those 'deep-in-my-soul-I'm-a-con-man' Maverick grins spread across his face as he answered her.

"You won't like it. Neither one of you'll like it. But I'm pretty sure it'll work."


	38. A Lot to Talk About

Chapter 37 – A Lot to Talk About

Bart merely stood and listened to his brother as Bret explained his plan. As soon as the older brother stopped talking, the younger brother began forcefully shaking his head 'no.' "Absolutely not. It's too risky. There's no way we can protect you."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "It's too much of a chance, Bret. They'd have no reason to keep you alive once they got the formula from you."

Bret kept right on grinning. "They'll have to if they think that Bart knows, too. I hafta do it. It's the only chance we've got."

"No." It was Bart again, and he was insistent.

"I agree," Ginny stated flatly. "No."

"Agent Malone," Bret began, "we need to find out who's behind all the trouble, includin' the murder of three different women. There's no other way to do that. Arthur Stansbury would approve my plan; you know he would. That's what we're here for, to find the boss and break the gamblin' ring. No other solution is acceptable. What I've proposed will work, whether you both like it or not. Or do you want to stay here forever, beatin' our heads against a wall?"

"No, no, no," Bart kept repeating. Ginny slumped down into the nearest chair and stared at the man she'd come to care a good deal about. Much as she didn't want to, the longer she watched him the more she found herself agreeing with the course of action he'd proposed. Long minutes later she addressed his plan. Her voice was soft and steady when she spoke.

"I hate it. I despise it. It's the very last thing I want you to do." Pause. "But I agree with you. It'll work. And we have to try."

"I won't agree to it." Bart turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Your brother is stubborn."

Bret laughed tiredly. "No more so than I am. He's worried, Ginny, that's all. He'll come around. He has to."

"Don't be so sure about that, Bret."

XXXXXXXX

Bart Maverick was more than worried about the welfare of his brother. For once in his life he was truly frightened and feared the worst – that Bret's plan, if executed properly, would lead to nothing but death. Bret's death.

Bart wasn't about to let that happen. While he logically agreed with everything that 'Pappy' outlined, he had no intention of allowing the steps to be taken the way Bret wanted to take them. Rather, he had no intention of allowing the steps of the plan to be taken by the person who intended to take them. And the only way Bart could see to prevent Bret from going ahead with his plan was to do what no one expected – execute the plan himself.

He had to act immediately. If he wasted any time at all it would give his brother a chance to find out who was behind the gambling consortium – and get himself killed. If somebody had to die, he didn't intend for it to be his older brother.

Bart hurried to his room and strapped on his gun belt. Then he slipped off his coat and donned the shoulder holster that he sometimes wore, checking to make sure the derringer was loaded. Just to be safe, he slipped his single shot derringer into his vest pocket, put his coat back on and headed for the door that led, eventually, to the stables.

There was no one around, and he wasted no time in picking a horse and saddling it himself. Before anyone could stop him or even ask where he was going, he was mounted and on his way out of the barn and down the road – towards Sherman Caulfield's estate.

XXXXXXXX

Bret found his way from the office that the three 'agents' had met in, down to Bart's room, where he knocked on the door and waited for an answer. There was none forthcoming, and he knocked again, this time following the knock with his entrance into the bedroom. The room was empty. He searched to see if he could find Bart's gun belt or his derringer. There was no trace of a weapon in the room and a cold fear gripped Bret's heart – he knew exactly what that meant. Bart had taken his guns and headed out to prevent Bret from doing the very thing he'd suggested – playing a hunch and confronting the man they'd come to suspect as being behind the murders and mayhem.

He turned to leave the bedroom and found Ginny standing in the doorway. From the look on her face she knew exactly what had happened; she appeared almost as worried as Bret was. "He's gone, isn't he?"

The older brother nodded. "Yep. And I'm goin' after him."

"Then I'm going with you," Malone answered. Bret didn't argue, just nodded his head.

"Come on, my guns in the other room." He brushed past her and headed for their room, with the agent practically on his heels. "Let's go get him before he gets himself killed."

"I think that's what he was trying to prevent you from doin'."

Bret chuckled ironically as he got to their bedroom and began strapping on his gun belt. "Time for you to say 'I told you so,' ain't it?"

"About his not comin' around, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"Not gonna say that, Bret."

Bret grabbed his derringer and stuck it in his coat pocket. "Why not? You were right. I shoulda known he'd try somethin' like this. If I'd thought far enough ahead I coulda prevented it."

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and Ginny knew how mad he was that he hadn't anticipated this move by his brother. She caught him by the arm and made him stop and face her. "It's not your fault, Bret. He wants to keep you safe, just like you wanna keep him safe. Don't blame yourself because he caught you off-guard."

He pulled away from Agent Malone and headed out the door. "Then let's go save him from himself – or anybody else."

XXXXXXXX

It was past midnight when Bart got to Sherman Caulfield's ranch. There were still lights on inside but everything was quiet, and there was no sign of anyone unexpected at the house. Bart dismounted and tied up his horse, then went to the front door and made his presence known by pounding on it.

It took a few minutes, but Carrie White eventually answered the knocking. "Yes, sir?"

Bart didn't wait to be asked in. He brushed past the still half-asleep housekeeper before turning back to her. "Tell Caulfield that Bart Maverick's here. I have to see him. Now."

"Yes, sir," came the answer, and the young woman disappeared behind what could only be assumed to be Sherman's office door. She was back out almost as quickly. "What is this about, Mr. Maverick?"

"Life, death, and a whole lotta money," Bart answered her as he stepped past her and into the office, closing the door behind him.

Sherman Caulfield rose from behind his desk, looking perturbed but curious. "What is this about, Mr. Maverick?"

The gambler's answer came quickly, and stopped Sherman Caulfield cold. "Gambling debts and beer formulas, Mr. Caulfield, and your involvement with both of them. We have a lot to talk about."


	39. Partners

Chapter 38 – Partners

"Gambling debts and what, Mr. Maverick? What are you talking about?" Sherman Caulfield, playing the thoroughly confused innocent party, sat back down. Bart moved quickly across the room and stood behind a chair directly in front of the desk.

"You heard me, Caulfield, and you know exactly what I mean. Your right-hand man, Dusty Jackson, pulled my brother away from his brand new wife and lured him down into the pit and back to the mistress he can't resist, poker. And for what? So you could force him to steal something for you? You'd ruin his life for the paltry sum of thirty thousand dollars?" Bart came to an abrupt halt, pulling out his gun and holding it in his lap as he sat down slowly in the chair.

Caulfield made a hasty decision. Obviously Maverick knew the scheme and had come here for something other than to put an end to the whole thing. Sherman decided to take one step out onto the tree branch he found himself perched on and see if it snapped – or held.

"What is it that you want, Maverick? What's in it for you?"

Bart suppressed a grin. Twice before he'd convinced criminals in positions of power that he was as big a crook as they were – Orin Johnson in Dodge City and Morgan Everton in Tucson. Right now he had a third chance to bring someone thoroughly evil to their knees, and he fully intended to accomplish just that – as well as keep his brother and Ginny safe. "I want in on the whole thing, Sherman. I want whatever Adele Mueller was gonna get. And I don't mean dead."

XXXXXXXX

They were in the barn saddling their horses when the anger and fear began to dissipate, and Bret started to wonder if going after Bart was the right thing. Ginny watched as Bret's efforts to saddle his horse faded and then disappeared altogether, and he just stood there lost in thought. "Bret?"

There was no immediate answer; Agent Malone stopped her efforts and waited for some kind of response. None was forthcoming. "Bret?"

Finally a soft grunt greeted her question. "Hmmm?" followed it.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop?"

He stood there for another minute, hanging onto his saddle, before he answered her. "Just wondering if I shouldn't let him go ahead with my plan."

"Why?"

"Bart's had more than a little experience makin' folks think he was . . . shall we say, not quite honest." There was a touch of irony mixed with a bit of admiration in the elder Maverick's voice.

"You wanna explain that to me?"

Bret pulled the girth tight around his horse and mounted. "Come on, let's get out of here, and I'll explain it to you."

They rode out into the night air and around the estate. It took Bret almost an hour to outline Bart's involvement with Johnson and Everton, and by the time he was finished Ginny Malone had once again come to agree with him. "It sounds like Bart's got more than enough bravado to take care of himself."

They were stopped near the pinnacle of a small rise that led down to a partially hidden pond. Bret inclined his head towards his 'bride' with a reluctantly worried look on his face. "It ain't his nerve I worry about. Whoever's runnin' this operation is responsible for the death of three women. I doubt they'd hesitate to kill a man that threatened 'em. But if Caulfield's involved, and Bart can talk his way in . . . it could save us a lotta time and effort. An maybe somebody else's life."

Malone was quiet for a good minute, mulling over what Bret had just told her. "So it's a gamble?"

Bret let a fleeting smile play around his mouth for a moment, moderately amused at her use of the word people threw at the Mavericks so carelessly. "Yeah, it's a gamble."

"That your brother was willing to take because he's had some experience in the matter?"

She was not only Bart's word for her, Beauty, but Brains to go right along with it. "You catch on quick."

"I think the right man volunteered for the job."

His turn to agree with her. "I hate to admit it, but I believe you're right."

XXXXXXXX

Caulfield had poured himself a brandy and offered one to this brash intruder. It was declined. "And just what do you think that was, Mr. Maverick?"

"A good share of the profits from the sale of the beer formulas. That may or may not be all she was involved with, but I want into the counterfeit money ring, too."

The man behind the desk didn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed. How had this rich boy managed to figure out exactly what Sherman Caulfield was involved in? Had Adele told Bart Maverick what she was doing before she disappeared? Had Dusty Jackson spilled his guts to this stranger for one reason or another? Just what had his brother divulged to him? And then something he hadn't thought of before finally made its way to the surface of his devious mind. What if the Maverick brothers weren't what they seemed?

Sherman took a leap of faith. "How'd you lose your money?"

The con man sitting in front of him never flinched or changed his expression. "My brother gambled it away."

"How much?"

"All of it," Bart answered. "Close to a million. I've been lookin' for a way to get it back ever since. And now I've found one."

"How are you going to get your hands on the formulas?" Sherman Caulfield was a practical man. He'd gotten rid of a partner who'd gone spineless on him, and he'd accidentally acquired a partner who at least seemed to have some brains. Maybe, if he played his cards right, Maverick could even help him replace another partner – Dusty Jackson. The formerly-rich con man felt like a much more fitting cohort than the trigger-happy ranch hand. That way the split of the profits could go back to being fifty-fifty.

"My brother may be a bad gambler, but he's a reasonably clever man. I'm gonna let him steal the formulas for us. He can deliver them to Mr. Jackson. He doesn't need to know I'm involved with this at all."

"And tell me, Mr. Maverick, what's to prevent me from disposing of you and your threats right now?"

At last a smirk appeared on the face in front of him. "You're not the kind of man to get your hands dirty with menial things like that, Mr. Caulfield. Dusty Jackson isn't here to do your bidding. And you'd rather have a partner who can think for himself than a gun hand who can't. If I'm wrong, I'm a dead man. But I don't think I am."

Sherman Caulfield settled down into his chair. This had turned into an entertaining evening, after all, and quite suddenly everything looked much better than it had just a short while ago. "Alright, Mr. Maverick, I think we understand each other. I can use a man of your obvious talents. Let's keep Mr. Jackson in the dark about this arrangement as long as possible, shall we?"

His newest partner smiled. "Call me Bart, Sherman."


	40. The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 39 – The Best Laid Plans

Bart stayed at Sherman Caulfield's ranch and ate breakfast with his new partner – rather, he forced himself to have breakfast with Caulfield. The very last thing he wanted to do was sit across a table from the piece of human slime and eat, but he knew it was expected of him and Bart Maverick, con man and crook extraordinaire, so that's what he did. Just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky the two 'conspirators' shook hands, and Bart took his leave. There were so many things he wanted to do – talk to Jeb Coughlin, reveal everything he'd learned and negotiated to Bret and Ginny, crash into bed and sleep until he woke up – yet as soon as he got out of sight of the Caulfield ranch he did none of those. He pulled his horse up in the shade of an oak tree and spent the next twenty minutes expelling the food he'd just forced himself to eat.

When the vomiting was finally through, he sat back on his heels in a mild state of surprise. Tender stomach aside, the reaction to what he'd just managed to get Caulfield to agree to was unexpected. He waited until he was sure the anguish experienced by his insides was finished, then remounted the horse and set off for the Busch estate.

It was almost nine o'clock by the time he left his mount at the barn with one of the ranch hands. Much as he wanted to go straight to bed and sleep he was sure that his brother and Agent Malone were waiting for him, and he headed directly to their room. Everything behind the closed doors was silent, yet it was mere seconds from the time he knocked until the doors were opened and he was enveloped in a cloud of red and blue named Ginny.

"Are you alright? We were so worried!" Both of the rooms occupants were fully dressed and from the look of things, had been for quite a while. Arthur Stansbury's best agent kissed him on the cheek and then quickly backed away, not sure if Bret was going to embrace or take a swing at his younger brother. The embrace won out, but before Bret turned loose of Bart he pushed him down into the nearest chair and made him sit.

"You look terrible. What happened? Tell us everything." Bret finally paused for breath and passed his brother the glass of water that Ginny handed him. Bart took the glass with great relief and drank most of it before coming up for air.

"Thanks. I look that good, do I? It was a hell of a night." He finished the last of the water and gave the glass to the girl, then removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "We guessed right. Caulfield's the man behind it all – the gambling, the counterfeit money. He didn't outright admit to the murders, but he didn't deny them, either. And he's got himself a brand new partner."

Bret tried to suppress the grin he felt creeping over his face. Bart had a knack for making criminals believe that he was just like them; how he did it the older gambler wasn't quite sure. Something about that handsome, innocent face, and the sincere tone of the voice and the look in the eyes. Somehow they believed that every word out of his mouth was the truth, and Sherman Caulfield had just been added to the list of criminals who bought what Bart Maverick was selling, hook, line, and sinker. "You hungry?"

Food was the last thing on Bart's mind, and more than his insides could tolerate. "Please, no. But I do need . . . "

"Coffee," Ginny finished for him. "I'll go get some." She was quickly out the door, and her footsteps echoed down the hall.

"He's a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, Bret. Jackson's his partner or employee, don't know which. I suspect he'll want me to eliminate Dusty once he's got the formulas."

"How'd you sell it to him, Bart?" Bret was torn between needing to know the whole story and wanting to wait for Ginny to return with the coffee. His brother didn't answer him right away, and soon there were footsteps in the hall again. Bret opened the door and let the girl in, helping her with the coffee pot and cups. Soon all three were drinking that coffee and Bart began the story.

"He guessed that our fortune was gone, and I confirmed his suspicion, that you'd gambled the money away and I'd kept us afloat till I could figure somethin' out, and that the somethin' I'd finally figured out was his plan. Told him he could let me in on it, the formulas and the counterfeitin', or I'd turn him into Adolph Busch and wait to be rewarded. Didn't take much to convince him you was clever and could figure a way to steal what he wanted. You're not supposed to know I'm in on it. He don't want Jackson to know, either – that's how I know the gun hand's done for it."

"How about the murdered women – did he admit to anything?" Ginny questioned.

"No, not last night. I'm supposed to meet him at his ranch tomorrow afternoon. I'll get the rest outta him then. I gotta talk to Jeb Coughlin before that – let him know the counterfeit money's the responsibility of the same outfit. I need more evidence, and there's only one way to get that – I gotta play this all the way through. Bret, you get together with Adolph and get the fake formulas. Ginny, get hold of Arthur and see if he can give you any information on the stolen engravin' plates. How many, what denomination, anything that might help. And see if Arthur can tell us anything more about Sherman Caulfield. Nobody let on to Dusty that things have changed. I gotta go catch a few hours' sleep, then I'm gonna find Coughlin and tell him what I've learned."

"Meet back here at eight tonight?" Bret asked.

"Good idea," Bart agreed. "Hopefully we'll all have more information that'll move us along. And both of you be careful. The ice is gettin' thin under our feet an we need to keep from fallin' in. I'll see you both tonight."

Bart got up from the chair and was soon gone from the room. Ginny turned to Bret with worry in her voice. "He looks terrible, Bret. Is there somethin' he's not tellin' us?"

The older Maverick shook his head and chuckled softly. "No, ma'am. It ain't any easier on him playin' a part than it is on me. He'll be alright if he can get some sleep."

"IF? He looked like he was about ready to drop right here on the floor."

Bret moved a few feet across the room before pulling the Pinkerton agent into his arms. "How about if we catch some sleep, too? We're gonna need it later. You have to be exhausted – I know I am."

"I'm all for that," and she took his hand and led him to the bed. The only thing on either of their minds was sleep, and in just a few minutes they were locked in each other's arms, with the gambler gently snoring and the Pinkerton agent holding him close to her.

XXXXXXXX

Bart had sent the standard message to Jeb Coughlin about meeting at the River Queen before lying down in bed, and it was a good thing he did. This was one of those times he fell asleep almost the instant he closed his eyes. He woke with a start several hours later and hurried to change clothes and find a mount. He was still early arriving at the Queen, but this time Jeb's horse was already tethered along the riverbank, next to the docked paddlewheel.

He hastened on board and found Jeb sitting at a table, drinking sarsaparilla and playing Maverick Solitaire. Bart was amused as he approached the table. "Now I've got you playin' it, huh?"

Jeb looked up and smiled. "Yep. More interestin' than regular solitaire. What's up?"

"Let me get some coffee and I'll tell ya the story." He was back in just a minute and took a seat. "There's been some developments . . . "

Over the next thirty minutes, Bart filled Jeb in on everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours. "I can tell you what they stole in Denver – the engraving plates were for ten and twenty dollar bills. Are you sure Caulfield's got the plates?"

"I haven't seen 'em, no. But I told him I wanted in on the counterfeitin' too, and he never discouraged me. Remember the bills I gave you that Dusty passed? Were they the real thing?"

Jeb shook his head. "Nope. The bills you gave me were good counterfeits. I see where you're goin' with that." The marshal paused for a minute and took a drink. "What happens after your brother hands over the formulas?"

"Not sure yet. Supposed to meet Caulfield at his place tomorrow and we'll come up with somethin' when we know what his plans are. I'll get a message to ya. Looks like we might be able ta get this whole thing wrapped up, after all."

"Let's hope so, amigo. Let's hope so." 


	41. Things to Do

Chapter 40 – Things to Do

"Mr. Maverick is here to see you, sir."

"Send him in, Carrie," Sherman Caulfield told his housekeeper.

The man that walked into Sherman's office today looked more like a Caulfield partner, and less like a common ranch hand. Well-groomed, dressed head to foot in black silk, he walked with the air of an aristocrat. Yet there was something about him that set him apart from the other to-the-manor-born men that Caulfield had known in his life. This was more like it, and any doubts that Sherman might have had the night before disappeared. "Bart, come in, come in. A drink, perhaps?"

Just a small shake of the head. "I don't drink, Sherman. But you go right ahead."

Bart Maverick slipped into a chair in front of the desk and remained completely still. Sherman poured a glass of whiskey and took a big swallow, then looked across the desk at his new partner. "Talked to your brother about the formulas?"

"Not much. I'd rather he didn't suspect anything by my showin' too much interest in his affairs. He seems to be in a better mood, so I assume he's got a plan to get the formulas. How soon after he turns 'em over will you sell 'em?"

"Within a week at the very outside. I've got two different buyers lined up and both are more than eager to get their hands on the instructions and begin brewing. Your financial problems should be over very soon."

"There's somethin' I need to know, Sherman."

"What's that, Bart?"

"I have to be sure there's no more ladies on your list of disposables."

"My list of disposables?"

"Temperance, Simone, Adele. Any I've missed?"

Caulfield poured himself another drink. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I don't want my sister-in-law to turn up on that list."

"Hoping that she'll end up as more than your sister-in-law?"

Maverick remained dead still for several minutes before he answered, as if contemplating the prospect. "Eventually, yes."

"How are you gonna manage that?"

Again he hesitated before answering. "I don't think I'll have to do a thing. I think my brother'll do it for me." Bart pulled out a cigar and lit it. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Keep her nose out of where it doesn't belong and she'll be fine."

"Is that what happened to the other three?"

"Not exactly."

"I wanna know what I've walked into, Sherman."

"Simone overheard something she shouldn't have and was going to sell the information. Adele helped start the drive to steal the formulas and ruin Adolph, then changed her mind. I couldn't take the chance she'd talk."

"And Temperance?" At last it was Caulfield's turn to be silent. Bart sat and waited patiently for an answer; it was evident that Sherman was having a hard time giving one. Finally he was forced to ask again. "What about Temperance?"

"That's a long story."

Bart was quick to answer. "I've got time."

Sherman once again filled his glass and took a long drink. "More than thirty years ago . . ."

XXXXXXXX

"I can't believe it." Adolphus Busch sat in his study listening to the tale that Bret and Ginny told him. "Sherman and I have had our disagreements over the years, but nothing that we couldn't eventually resolve. What on earth could I have done to cause this level of animosity?"

"We're not entirely sure, Adolph, and I'd rather not speculate until we know. With any luck Bart will have an answer for us later today."

Busch shook his head in disbelief. "I never would have suspected Sherman. Or Dusty, for that matter. Not after I bailed him out years ago. But I'm sure you're right. It is your business to uncover things like this, no matter how preposterous they might seem. But I need to hear whatever reasons you three come across. Please."

Once again Ginny spoke. "You will, Adolph. You will."

Bret moved the subject in another direction. "Are the fake formulas ready to go? Jackson expects them the day after tomorrow."

The beer magnate nodded. "They are, and I believe they're as close to undetectable as possible. I'll have them for you Friday morning. How soon after that do you think Caulfield will be in custody?"

"We can't have him arrested until he sells them, and that could take several days. That's another thing that Bart's tryin' to find out."

"Quite a clever man, that brother of yours. I take it this isn't the first time he's played a criminal."

Bret smiled wryly. "No, it's not. He's gotten to be quite convincin' at it. Let's hope he is this time, too."

Ginny's stomach twisted slightly at what could happen if something went wrong. _'Don't think about_ _that,'_ she told herself. _'Bart knows what he's doing . . . I think.'_ "Remember, Adolph, how important it is to Bart's well-being that no one suspects what's really going on – not even Chief Mildour."

"You still don't know if Ralph's in on it?"

"No, we don't. And until we do . . . "

Busch nodded. "I understand. I certainly don't want any of these ne'er-do-wells to get away with anything, even if one of them turns out to be the Chief of Police. Especially if one of them turns out to be the Chief of Police."

"Neither do we," Bret agreed. "Particularly since Bart's life could depend on it."

There was a knock on the door; Lily Busch opened it. "Adolph, darling, I wanted to talk to you . . . " As soon as she saw Bret and Ginny sitting with her husband in his office, her cheeks turned pink and she smiled. The fact that the newlyweds were there and there was no screaming or arguing going on pleased her immensely. Maybe things were looking up for the Mavericks. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I had no idea there was anyone in here with you."

Bret stood and held out his hand to his wife, who took it and rose from her chair, also. "That's alright, Lily, we were just about to leave, anyway. Adolph is all yours." He smiled at Lily, then turned the smile to Ginny and asked, "Ready to go, my dear?"

"Yes, Bret," Ginny replied, smiling herself. "We have things to do this afternoon. Lily, Adolph, we'll see you at supper."

As soon as they were gone, Lily turned to her husband hopefully. "Does that mean they're headed in the right direction, Adolph?"

Busch sighed heavily but forced himself to smile at Lily. "I hope so, my dear. I certainly hope so."

XXXXXXXX

"Didn't expect that."

"Neither did I. But Lily looked pleased, didn't she?" the girl asked.

"No doubt she wants the Maverick marriage to succeed," Bret said matter-of-factly.

' _So do I,'_ thought the Pinkerton agent. "No doubt."

' _I wonder if it could.'_ Now even the gambler's mind was questioning the possibility. As if to answer the question once and for all, he leaned over and caught Ginny under the chin, tilting her lips up to meet his. They didn't have to go far; once more he was reminded how tall she was. Just one of the many delightful things to be admired about her. Admired . . . and loved? He shook his head as if to erase the thought from his mind. A girl like Ginny would never be willing to settle for something as mundane as marriage. And that made him wonder – would he? He'd certainly thought about it, at least once, before Althea Taylor had fallen in love with his friend Simon Petry. Maybe even begun to think about it seriously. But then the unthinkable happened, and . . . well, there were other things to take into consideration. He hadn't thought of it since.

All in all, there was no sense considering marriage now. Ginny had a life, and a career, and the last thing she needed was a rover like him. Best to just enjoy whatever this was that was happening between them as long as it lasted, and let it go when the time came. He moved his hand from under her chin to the back of her head, wrapped his fingers in the long red curls, and pulled her to him. "We have things to do this afternoon," he murmured to her.

"Many wonderful things," she murmured back.


	42. The Edge of Night

Chapter 41 – The Edge of Night

"Did you believe him?"

It wasn't the first question asked that evening, but it was the first time Ginny had asked one.

"Yeah, I believed him. And I believe he still loved her, after all these years. But that didn't stop him from killin' her when she got in his way." Bart almost shivered from the cold chill that Sherman Caulfield's words had sent up his spine. _'It didn't matter anymore how I felt about Temperance. I fully intended to have my revenge on Adolph Busch, and her continued existence wasn't going to stop me._ ' He went on to describe how she'd turned away from him, unable to comprehend the depth of his hatred for Busch and what lengths he would tolerate extracting his revenge. In that instant he knew what was required of him, and without further thought he reached out and . . . her neck snapped so easily.

"By himself?"

Bart nodded then, to agree with the woman and to try and shake the image from his mind. "He's a big man. And strong. Accordin' to him he managed it all by himself."

Bret rose from the chair he was sitting in and walked across the room, stopping to pour a glass of water. How could a man be so filled with hatred after thirty years? "What did Caulfield say about sellin' the formulas?"

"Hmmm?" Bart asked.

"What did he say . . . "

"Oh, about the formulas? Within a week. Promised me my money worries would be over. Ain't that comfortin'? Told me I should be there when he handed 'em over, that we'd have the matter of Jackson to deal with afterwards." It had been obvious what that meant; it would be up to Bart to eliminate the problem that Caulfield's right-hand-man had become. "Told him I'd be happy to take care of things for him." Not, of course, in the way Sherman meant.

It was disconcerting to hear Bart speak so casually of killing someone. Ginny had begun to understand what Bret meant when he'd wondered out loud just where this criminal persona of his brother's had come from. _'I'm glad it's a persona and not his real personality,'_ she thought. Out loud she asked, "Is that where the marshal comes in?"

"Yep. Jeb'll be around to arrest the lot of 'em. Just in case Mildour's part of this whole bunch. With any luck I might be able to find that out between now and then. In the meantime, I just need the two of you to play your parts and stay outta trouble."

Bret and Ginny exchanged glances. "And just what's that supposed to mean?" the older gambler asked.

"Don't do anything to cause suspicion. Just go about your lives as if the worst is over for you and the two of you have reconciled. Enjoy yourselves. Act like newlyweds that have just discovered each other. Stay outta trouble."

Bret let slip a wry smile. Sounded like the only thing left to do for him and Ginny, once the formulas had been handed over, was wait and enjoy life. And worry about the thousands of little things that could go wrong and ruin the plan. That was the part that bothered him the most; the weight of the whole plan rested squarely on Bart's shoulders, and nowhere else. If anything happened that wasn't supposed to, it could very well be a death sentence for his brother.

"That's easy for you to say. You get to have all the fun."

Bart looked from Bret to Ginny and almost smiled. He'd seen the look that passed between the two of them, and he was sure there was more going on than they were willing to admit. He might be worried about what this whole mess they'd gotten themselves into was doing to any of them mentally; at least his brother and the Pinkerton agent seemed to be finding comfort in the presence of each other. It'd been a long time since Bret had a woman in his life, much less a woman like Virginia Malone. "You heard me, just stay outta trouble."

If only it had been that easy.

XXXXXXXX

Later that night Marie Claire appeared at the door to the Maverick bedroom with a note for Mrs. Maverick. Bret was still in the dining room talking to his brother and Adolph and had no idea a message came for his 'wife.' Ginny thanked the maid and waited until she was back in the room before opening the note. It was written in what could be best described as a 'feminine scrawl.'

' _I am leaving St. Louis and returning to my family. There is something that has been weighing heavily on my mind, and I feel I must tell you before I leave. I owe that much to Señora Mueller. Please come to the Mueller ranch Friday afternoon so that I can make things right. Myra.'_

Should she tell Bart? The agent had the distinct feeling that this would not qualify as 'staying outta trouble.' What about Bret? He had his own problems to cope with on Friday; that was the day he turned over the formulas to Dusty Jackson. No, she was a Pinkerton agent, for heaven's sake, and this was her job. She folded the note and slipped it into her pocket, determined to handle this one by herself. After all, just how much trouble could one little visit get her into?

XXXXXXXX

"Everything is set for tomorrow," Adolph announced once he and the Mavericks were left alone in the dining room. "Bret, you follow me to the brewery in the morning and I'll turn the fake formulas over to you before I get 'called away' on an emergency. That gives you the opportunity to 'steal' everything you need. I won't be home until late tomorrow night, but I want to meet with you as soon as I get back. It's all in your hands now, gentlemen, and I'm counting on you."

"Sounds like we better do our jobs, Brother Bart," Bret laughed.

"We'll take care of everything, Adolph. No need to worry," Bart stated solemnly. He turned to his brother, just as serious. "We will, Bret. And you know I've got your back, no matter what happens."

Bret was more than concerned. He'd never seen Bart this sober and intense. Where was the happy-go-lucky brother that had arrived here in St. Louis mere weeks ago? The man that could handle anything you threw at him? He had to talk to his brother alone, and see if he could discover just what was making him so grim. Was there something going on that Bart hadn't told him about?

"Can we go back to your room for a minute?" Bret asked after they left Adolph for the night.

"Something wrong?" There was still something in the way Bart asked the question that worried Bret. A strain in his voice, a tenseness in the way he walked.

"I've got some questions I need to get answered."

"Sure." Bart's standard answer to almost any question, it was a word that his brother hadn't heard in a long time. They turned the corner and walked down the hall to Bart's room; Bret closed the door quietly behind them.

"What's eatin' you, Bart? Somethin's not right." Bret sat down in the nearest chair and folded his hands in his lap. Bart paced the room as if he'd assumed his brother's personality. He didn't answer immediately, but finally settled next to the window and stared out into the night.

"I ain't sure, Bret. I keep waitin' . . . for what, I don't know. It's like somethin's gettin' ready to happen, and I'm not gonna see it comin'. I keep goin' over everything in my head and nothin' seems wrong, or outta place. But this feelin' ain't goin' away."

"Maybe it's just your imagination gettin' the best of you." Bret knew better than that, but he was grabbing at straws. Bart seemed to be so on-edge that he would do almost anything to settle his brother's nerves.

"Maybe. All I can do is wait and see." Bart looked at his brother for a moment, and then back into the dark. "Quit worryin' about me, would ya? You gotta play scared rabbit one more day. You gonna be alright?"

Bret chuckled. "Don't worry about me. My part in all this is almost over. Yours is just beginnin'. Anything I can do to make it easier on ya?"

The oldest Maverick finally managed to elicit a laugh from his brother. "No, Pappy, I'll be fine. Now get outta here and let me try to get some sleep."

Bret got up and walked to the door. "You sure? I can stick around for a while if you want company."

"Goodnight, Pappy." The door closed behind Bret and Bart sighed. "Please protect him."


	43. Senora Maverick

Chapter 42 – Señora Maverick

Dusty Jackson was saddling his horse when Adolph Busch and Bret Maverick got in the buggy that morning. He watched Adolph's driver head the carriage towards the brewery and smiled slightly. This was Friday, after all, and Maverick might be cutting it a little thin, but it looked like he'd probably be able to deliver what they'd waited so long for – the coveted beer formulas. Jackson's days of riding herd on a bunch of rowdy, dirty cowhands were almost over.

It was early afternoon when Virginia Maverick entered the barn and asked for a saddled horse. The assistant foreman had just brought in one of the stock, a bay that had managed to throw a shoe, and wondered what the woman was up to and where she was going. He waited until she was almost out of sight, headed down the road towards the Mueller Ranch, and set out across the meadow. He gambled that she was on the way there for some reason, and his hunch proved correct. He reached the ranch on the western road and wasn't in time to see her arrive, but spotted her horse tied in front of the house.

Suspicious, to say the least. Mel Bowers had left several weeks ago, taken a job down south. Dusty thought that Myra, the housekeeper, was gone, too, but from the look of things he was mistaken. The ranch was currently for sale by Temperance Mueller's daughter. He watched the house from a safe distance, and it was almost an hour before the Maverick woman came back out and mounted her horse. She headed straight back towards the Busch estate.

Jackson was torn. What if her visit had been innocent, nothing more than a pleasant farewell? Perhaps she wanted her husband to buy the property, and settle in St. Louis? But what if Myra had summoned her to the house, intent on telling someone everything she knew, or thought she knew before she left town? They were so close – could they afford to take a chance now?

In a split second, the enforcer made his decision. Better to take unnecessary action now than to let one woman's vindictiveness ruin everything. He'd been suspicious of the Mueller housekeeper ever since he caught her spying on the first meeting between Temperance and Sherman, and he'd wanted to do something about her then. Caulfield stopped him, and another opportunity hadn't presented itself. He should probably dispose of her now, but that would prevent him from containing a more imminent threat . . . Virginia Maverick. No, the wife had to be dealt with, and dealt with before she could cause any damage. He spurred his horse back the way he'd come, desperate to reach the turn in the road towards the Busch estate before Ginny got there. He couldn't afford to miss his chance.

XXXXXXXX

Agent Malone was distracted while she rode to the Mueller ranch. She was worried about both Maverick brothers, but the one in the most precarious position right now was Bret. Assuming he'd gotten the substitute formulas from Adolph's safe, he still had the confrontation with Dusty Jackson to look forward to, and any unforeseen consequences from that meeting. Then there was Bart. Usually the happy-go-lucky brother, Ginny had watched him descend into a kind of somber madness, focused exclusively on the capture of the gambling consortium. How far could the gambler immerse himself in the dark world of the criminal mind without some kind of permanent damage to his warm and witty personality? Would the Bart Maverick that emerged from this job be forever scarred by his battle with the dark side of life-long revenge?

She was so focused on the immediate problems that faced the three Mavericks that she gave no thought to the meeting she'd been called to or her physical surroundings. If she'd been more aware, she might have noticed the shadowy rider that appeared to be following her at a distance, or what secrets the housekeeper could possibly possess that might affect the problems they had to confront in the next few days. So she had no plan in place to deal with the information that Myra was about to impart to her, and later, no forewarning that trouble was at hand.

Before she realized it she was at the Mueller Ranch; dismounting, tying up her horse, taking the porch steps two at a time, knocking at the door. Myra answered quickly and ushered her inside without a word. The door was closed behind her; only then did the housekeeper speak. "Thank you for coming, Señora Maverick. Please, have a seat."

"What did you want to see me about, Myra?" Ginny asked as she sat down.

"Are you really Señora Maverick?"

Ginny was taken aback but did her best to give no indication of it. "Am I what?"

"Are you really Señora Maverick? You don't act like any married woman I've ever met. I suspect you're not. Like any other married woman, I mean."

"I am Señora Maverick, Myra. Sorry if that disappoints you." Ginny was not about to break her cover so close to the end of the case.

"Still . . . I think there are some things you might want to know."

"I'm willing to listen to whatever you want to tell me, Myra."

The housekeeper sat quietly for a few moments before beginning. "I lied to you, Señora. When you first came here, the day Señora Mueller died."

"You lied to me about what?"

"You asked about Señora Mueller and a new business. I told you I knew nothing of a new business venture; that there was no new business. There was one, but she had abandoned it in disappointment."

"Why was that?"

"Because the people that had proposed the business lied to her."

"Who were those people?"

"Señora Adele Mueller. And Señor Sherman Caulfield."

"What was the lie, Myra? When did this happen?"

"That I do not know, Señora. I do not know what it was about, or what the lie was. I only know it happened two or three days before . . . "

"Before she died?"

"Si."

"And you're sure it was with Adele Mueller and Sherman Caulfield?"

"Si, Señora."

"Was there anyone else involved? Dusty Jackson, perhaps?"

"It is possible, Señora, but I do not know for certain."

"Why didn't you tell me this the day I asked you, Myra?"

The chastised housekeeper stared down at the floor. "Because I did not know who you were, Señora . . . and because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what? Or whom?"

"Señor Caulfield."

Ginny finally realized the cause of the fear. "You don't believe that Señora Mueller hung herself, do you?"

"No, Señora."

The two women sat together in silence for a few minutes. When Myra offered nothing further, Ginny rose to her feet. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Myra stood, also. "No, Señora. That is all there is. Gracias."

Ginny nodded and left the house, closing the door behind her. She untied her horse and mounted, then headed the mare back towards the Busch estate and rode away. On the way to the Mueller house her mind had been occupied by her concern for the well-being of the Maverick brothers; on the way back she could think of nothing but the two dead women and the man behind it all. For one of the few times in her life she was totally unprepared for what awaited her when the road turned towards the Busch estate.


	44. Without a Trace

Chapter 43 – Without a Trace

The knock on the door was unexpected. Bret had a habit of just walking into Bart's room unannounced; it was unlike him to be so formal. "Bret?" he asked as he opened the door.

It was, indeed, his older brother and erstwhile 'partner-in-crime' standing outside. "You were expectin' someone else?"

Bart held the door open wide. "Wasn't expectin' you to knock is all."

"I was feelin' formal," Bret answered as he walked into his brother's room. "I tried sittin' in our room, but it was drivin' me crazy. You got any idea where Ginny is?"

Bart was surprised. "She's not there?"

A shake of the head. "Nope. Haven't seen her since I left for the brewery this mornin' with Adolph. You seen her?"

"No, I haven't seen her all day. I hope this ain't her idea of stayin' outta trouble."

Bret scratched his chin and fiddled with his watch. "I've got some time before I gotta go to the poker game an hand over the formulas. Let's check with the maids and find out if she went somewhere before we jump to conclusions."

Bart nodded, and the two men left to do their searching. It took some time to locate Geneviève, Adélaïde, and Marie Claire, and when Bart got back to his room he had the latter with him. Bret was waiting for them and opened the door immediately. "Marie Claire, tell my brother what you told me, please," Bart instructed.

"Last night, Mr. Maverick," the maid began, her voice trembling, "Mrs. Maverick received a note from the Mueller Ranch. I do not know what was in it. I presented it to Mrs. Maverick and returned to my duties. Did I do something wrong?"

Bret took the girls hands in his. She was shaking like a leaf. "No, Marie Claire, you did nothing wrong. Who brought the note here, do you know?"

"It was Freddy Clausen, he worked for Mrs. Mueller. He left as soon as he gave it to me."

"Thank you. You've been a big help." Bret let go of the young maid and she scurried off down the hall. "What was all that about?"

"Don't know, but I'm sure as hell gonna find out," Bart insisted. He pulled out his watch and checked the time. "You gotta go, Brother Bret. I'll ride to the Mueller's and see what I can find out. I'm sure she's fine. You be careful and don't take any chances."

"Come on, we can go to the barn together." Bret grabbed his brother by the arm, and they left the house and headed straight for the stables. Once their horses were saddled Bret rode in one direction, towards the Redicker Ranch, where tonight's poker game was being held, Bart the other. He was headed for the Mueller's.

Redicker's was closer, and Bret was surprised to find that Dusty Jackson was nowhere to be seen. Maverick was about to sit down to play a hand when Dusty came hurrying in, red in the face and out of breath.

"Did you get 'em?" Those words were the first thing Dusty said when he finally got into the bunkhouse.

"I've got 'em," Bret answered.

"Good. Let me have 'em."

Bret took a good look at Jackson. Besides looking looked he'd run all the way to the game, there was a long, ugly scratch down the right side of his face. "What happened?"

"I tangled with a steer," the foreman replied abruptly, and pulled Bret over to the far side of the room. "No poker until I've got the formulas, Maverick."

"Right here?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "No, come outside with me."

Jeb Coughlin looked up from the poker table and watched the proceedings carefully. He didn't want to make a move tonight, but if Maverick needed help, the marshal was ready to give it. Bret shook his head slightly and Coughlin relaxed, but remained vigilant. The two men walked out the bunkhouse door and disappeared around the corner.

Once they were out of sight Dusty pulled his gun and held it on Bret. "What's that for?" Maverick asked.

Jackson started to grin but the scratch on his face hurt too much to allow it. "Just in case you get any bright ideas." He pulled the hammer back and the sound was almost deafening. "Let's have 'em. Now."

Bret removed several sheets of paper from his inside coat pocket. "I give these to you and I owe you nothing, right?"

"That's right. You're paid in full. But no more poker for you."

"Not even tonight? I've got some cash."

"How much?"

Bret pulled out his wallet and showed Jackson. "Almost three thousand dollars." He was hoping to get into the game to see if any more counterfeit bills were being passed.

Dusty thought for a minute, then greed took over. "Only until your cash is gone."

That served Bret's purpose, since he had no intention of losing tonight. "Fine by me."

Dusty slowly lowered the hammer on the gun, then holstered it. "Alright. Get inside then."

Bret started to walk around the corner, then turned back with a question. "A steer, huh? What was her name?"

XXXXXXXX

Bart rode straight to the Mueller Ranch and was relieved when he saw a light. He tied his horse outside and bounded up the stairs much the way Ginny had earlier, then knocked. It took a minute before he heard someone cross the floor; slowly the door opened. Myra stood in front of him, looking startled. "Señor Maverick."

He tipped his hat. "Myra, may I come in for a moment?"

She opened the door wide. "Si, Señor." He entered the room and she closed the door and followed him inside.

"Myra, was Virginia Maverick here today?"

"Si, Señor, Señora Maverick came at my request. I had something to tell her."

"What was that?"

She looked down at the floor, blushing. "I would rather she tell you, Señor."

Not what he wanted to hear. "I would ask her, Myra, but she's not at home. When did she leave here?"

"It must have been around four o'clock, Señor."

"This afternoon?"

"Si. She did not come home?"

"I don't know if she came home or not, Myra, but she hasn't been there all evening. You're sure she left around four?"

"Si."

Myra had taken a seat and now Bart did the same. He removed his hat and played with the brim, running it under his fingers as he watched the housekeeper. "What did you tell her, Myra? It may have somethin' to do with what's happened to her."

"I . . . I told her I'd lied to her when I first met her."

"Lied to her? About what?"

"About the business that Señora Mueller was almost involved in."

"What about it?" No answer. "Please, Myra, what about it?"

"It was with Señora Adele and Señor Caulfield."

"What was the business about?"

"I do not know, Señor, but she withdrew from it because they did not tell her the truth about it. That's all I know."

"Alright, Myra. Gracias." Bart stood to leave, and Myra followed him to the door. "If you think of anything else, will you let me know?" The housekeeper nodded, and Bart left.

Now he was worried. Ginny had departed the Mueller Ranch at four o'clock that afternoon, and it was almost eleven. No one had seen or heard from her since. He followed the road back to the Busch Estate slowly, trying to discover anything in the dark that might give him a clue to her whereabouts, but he found nothing. Finally he headed back at a gallop, hoping that Bret was already at the house. They needed to find Ginny, and find her in a hurry.


	45. Gone, Girl

Chapter 44 – Gone, Girl

Bret was happily oblivious, finally getting to win enough at poker to begin feeling like himself again. He remained cautious, however, losing just enough to prevent suspicion on Dusty's part. He bantered back and forth with Jeb Coughlin, and they smoked a cigar outside when the game took a ten-minute break. They were careful not to acknowledge their connection.

The games broke up early, shortly before two in the morning, and everyone gathered their funds and headed for home. Bret deliberately sought out Jackson, who couldn't help but remark, "You played better tonight."

"Sure. No more pressure," was his answer. "When's the next game?"

"Not sure yet. I'll let you know. You're still restricted to cash on hand."

"I figured. I think that's wise for now, until I can replenish my stake. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Dusty replied. "Keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay healthy."

"Got no problem with that at all."

"Good. Bullets ain't cheap."

"I'll keep that in mind. I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Mr. Jackson. Good night. To you too, Mr. Coughlin." Bret tipped his hat to the two men and took his leave.

It was closer to three by the time he returned to the Busch estate. He was surprised to see his brother pacing outside of the barn, and hurried to meet him. "Ginny?"

"No sign of her or her horse. I've searched everywhere I can think of. She left the Mueller house yesterday afternoon, according to Myra, and headed back here. No one's seen her since. How'd everything go with Jackson and the formulas?"

"No problems. I had cash and he let me play, and I won just a bit. I wanted to see if any more counterfeit money got passed. I got it put aside to run it past the marshal." Bret grabbed Bart by the shoulders and sounded as worried as Bart felt. "Tell me what you found out from Myra."

Bart cleared his throat and began. "Ginny was there. Myra told her that Temperance was gonna go into business with Adele and Sherman, but she pulled out when they lied to her. Myra didn't know what it was all about, the business or the lies, and Temperance backed out several days before she died." He cleared his throat again and lowered his voice. "Myra doesn't believe it was suicide, either."

"Why didn't she tell Ginny the first time we were out there?" Anger colored Bret's question.

"She was afraid."

"Of Caulfield? Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't have to. I could see it in her eyes. It had to be Caulfield. Why would she be afraid of Adele Mueller?"

Bart fidgeted with his horse's reins as Bret took a step towards his brother. "How long was she there?"

"About an hour. She left at four o'clock."

Bret's voice rose in dread. "Four o'clock? That's almost twelve hours ago! And you couldn't find any trace of her?"

"Nope. And I checked as best I could in the dark on the way back here. Let's get some coffee and change clothes; there's nothin' more to do in the dark. Once it's daylight we can go back out and see what we can find."

The words from Bret were almost whispered. "We better find Ginny."

XXXXXXXX

They were sitting in the dining room drinking coffee some thirty minutes later. Both were dressed for a day on the trail, and both were as nervous as a cat. It was almost sunrise when the door to the kitchen opened and Geneviève brought in two plates of food. "Mr. Busch is on his way in. He told me to bring you food."

Bart pushed his away. "Thanks, but not interested."

"Me either," Bret added.

The hallway door opened and Adolph Busch came striding in. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Virginia hasn't been seen since four o'clock yesterday," Bret told the beer magnet. "Soon as the suns up we're leavin' to go look for her."

"I'm coming with you," Busch insisted.

"You can't, Adolph. We can't afford to let anyone know there's somethin' wrong. And you goin' with us would be a dead giveaway."

Adolphus Busch was not used to being told no, but he was sure that Bret was right and decided it best not to argue. "Do you think she's . . . "

"NO," Bart insisted. "Not Ginny."

"I hope you're right," Adolph remarked.

The three men sat at the table for a few minutes, Bret picking at the food on his plate, Bart continuing to ignore his. At last the brothers rose from their seats and headed for the door.

"Bring her back safe, gentlemen."

Bart nodded. "We fully intend to."

XXXXXXXX

They went to the barn and had fresh horses saddled. Bret spent a few minutes talking to Johnny Dunkirk, the stable hand that Simone was betrothed to. When the conversation was finished, the brothers mounted and rode away, headed towards St. Louis. Once out of sight they changed direction, doubling back towards the Mueller Ranch.

"What was that all about?" Bart questioned his brother.

"Last night at the Redicker Bunkhouse – Dusty was late."

"So?"

"He's never late, Bart. He was red-faced and out of breath, and he had a long ugly scratch down the side of his face. He said he tangled with a steer, but it was no steer that left that welt."

"You think it was Ginny?"

Bret nodded succinctly. "I do. That's what I asked Johnny, was Dusty on the estate grounds yesterday. Johnny said no. He rode out of here about two-thirty, and Dunkirk never saw him again. I think he followed Ginny to Mueller's, and when she left he snatched her. From the look of Dusty's face, I'd say she put up one hell of a fight. Let's see if we can find their tracks."

They kept going toward the Mueller's. Both had scouted and tracked for the army at the end of the Civil War as Galvanized Yankees, and in the daylight it didn't take them long to pick up the trail. It headed west, away from the valley, then south. They'd ridden about five miles when suddenly the heavens broke open and within moments they were both soaked to the skin. Since there was no lightning they hurriedly found an oak tree and took what shelter they could. "Damn!" Was the first thing Bret said. "There goes the trail."

"Maybe not. Let's see how long this lasts."

The rain pounded down for fifteen or twenty minutes, then dried up as quickly as it had appeared. Bret was right, however, and whatever had been left of the trail was washed away. Bart turned to his brother with a question. "You game?"

"Lead on, Brother Bart."

Lead on Bart did, but to no avail. They rode for another three hours, first south, then back east, scouring every inch of the ground and every bit of surrounding landscape, but they could find no trace of either tracks or the missing woman. Finally they gave up in desperation; the horses were exhausted and they were getting nowhere. They rode back, having come to the conclusion that the only thing they could do was locate Dusty himself. That might blow the whole plan wide apart, but they couldn't afford to wait any longer. About half way back to the Busch Estate Bart had an idea, and the only thing he couldn't understand was why it hadn't occurred to him before. Sherman Caulfield. If he wasn't behind Ginny's disappearance, he'd probably know where Dusty had taken her . . . assuming she was still alive. Bart turned to his brother – rarely did he give Bret an order, but there was no time for anything else right now. "Go on back to Adolph's. I'm headed to Caulfield's." And before Bret had time to argue or protest Bart had swung his horse around and headed in the opposite direction. All he could think of to do was pray that he wasn't too late.


	46. Somewhere

Chapter 45 – Somewhere

Bart didn't waste any time heading for Sherman Caulfield's ranch. He was torn between beating himself up for getting involved in this mess and not realizing sooner that he'd probably already been double-crossed by his 'partner.' By the time he arrived he was doing everything in his power to control his anger and not make things any worse than they already were.

Usually pleasant and polite, he pushed past Carrie when she opened the door and headed straight for Caulfield's study. The man was alone, sitting behind his desk, reading some sort of document. There was a half-smoked cigar in front of him, and a glass with whiskey in it to the side. He looked up, startled, when Bart practically burst into the room.

"Bart! This is unexpected. What can I do for you?"

' _Steady, Bart. Uncontrolled rage will get you nowhere,_ ' the gambler thought as he did his best to rein in his anger and disgust. "Is this the way you keep your word, Sherman?" Somehow he managed to sound only slightly annoyed or, at the least, not even remotely close to the hostility that he felt at that exact moment.

Caulfield looked alarmed, then confused, and finally curious. "Sit down, man. Tell me what's wrong."

Against his better judgment, Bart took a seat in front of the desk, his hand resting on his Colt. He hesitated, then in a controlled voice declared, "Virginia Maverick is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

It was the tone in Caulfield's voice that caused Bart to re-evaluate the situation. He sounded shocked, hearing the news for the first time, and truly bewildered. Caulfield repeated himself. "What do you mean gone?"

When Bart answered, he had calmed down considerably. "She left the estate at about two o'clock yesterday afternoon and hasn't been seen since."

"What? That's impossible. Where would she go?" Caulfield paused, thinking. "Did you talk to Dusty? Does he know where she is?"

"Jackson's been missing the same amount of time. Nobody's seen him either."

This wasn't good. He could see the rage that Maverick was trying to control, and knew that his newest partner wouldn't hesitate to turn it on him if anything happened to the woman. It seemed obvious – Dusty must have taken her, for some reason, but what? And if he'd killed her, where was he? Even worse, if he hadn't killed her, where were they?

XXXXXXXX

Bret was very much a Maverick – he didn't like anyone giving him orders. Especially when it was his 'little brother.' The only thing that prevented any anger or further upset on his part was the fact that Bart was absolutely correct. If Sherman Caulfield had anything to do with Ginny's disappearance, or knew where she was, it would be far more productive for Bart to handle the confrontation. Amidst all the logic that Bret's brain was spewing at him, came a single thought that kept repeating. _'Let her be alright, God, please let her be alright. I don't know what I'd do . . . just let her be alright.'_

The strength of the emotion was surprising, but not totally unexpected. Ever since they'd been playing husband and wife, their connection had gotten closer and more intense. He'd wondered before . . . what Ginny thought of marriage, even what he thought of marriage. For him to explore that option, even briefly, had been quite a step for him. Now all he could do was wonder desperately if she was even alive. And pray that she was.

Without thinking about it, he found himself approaching his destination, the Busch Estate. What would he tell Adolph? That he and Bart had been unsuccessful in their search? That Bart had taken desperate flight towards Sherman Caulfield's, hoping against hope that the man they were trying to arrest for a myriad of crimes could provide a clue as to what had happened to the missing Pinkerton agent. And the woman that Bret had fallen in love with.

There it was, out in the open. He was in love with Agent Malone. There was no sense denying it any longer; it had been apparent to him for quite some time. And now, without ever having the chance to tell her, he might have lost her. As he pulled his horse up in front of the barn and Johnny Dunkirk came running out to assist him, he realized the irony of the situation. Johnny had lost the woman he loved, the woman he intended to marry, and yet here he was, still trying his best to function.

Bret straightened his shoulders and dismounted. Time to stop thinking the worst; Dunkirk may have lost his love, but there was no proof that Bret had. "Any luck?" Johnny asked as he took the reins from Maverick.

"None yet," Bret answered, and headed for the house. Time to face Adolph with the news, all the while continuing the silent prayer he'd begun earlier. _'Let her be alright.'_

XXXXXXXX

It would have been simpler if he'd just disposed of her, the way he had Simone and Adele. That had been his original intention, but something he didn't understand had stopped him. She wasn't greedy, like Simone, or vindictive, like Adele, and she fought him as if her life depended on it. The long, ragged scratch she'd left on his face was evidence of that. That wasn't the only mark she'd inflicted, but the rest weren't visible.

There was an old shack at the very edge of the Busch property, and that's where he took her. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't killed her and eliminated the threat, until it dawned on him that she provided him with a kind of 'insurance.' She had a husband that didn't want anything to happen to her, and if he was as much of a coward as Dusty believed he was, there was always her brother-in-law. He'd seen the way the younger Maverick brother looked at her when he thought no one was watching. If anything went wrong with their plan to sell the formulas, her life could probably buy his way out of trouble.

He left her bound and gagged inside the shack; he'd had the formulas for almost twenty-four hours and hadn't gotten them to the boss. It wasn't the best solution, but he had no choice other than to kill her, and he'd already decided against that – at least for right now. No one knew where she was, and no one knew that the shack was here. It had been abandoned as long as he'd worked for Adolph Busch.

"I'll be back soon," he told her. "Behave, and I won't have to hurt you." She glared at him with those turquoise-blue eyes as he closed the door behind him. He took her horse around the back and tied the mare up where she wouldn't be seen; then mounted his gelding and headed for the Caulfield Ranch. All he needed was a little luck, and he wouldn't have to use Virginia Maverick for leverage.

XXXXXXXX

"Jackson was supposed to bring the formulas here after he got them from your brother. I haven't seen him. Something's gone wrong."

That much was obvious. It didn't make Bart happy, but he believed that whatever had taken place wasn't at Sherman's direction. "Would he kill her?"

Caulfield shook his head. "Not without a direct order. And he didn't get one from me. He must have taken her someplace."

"Where would he go, Sherman?" Bart was still angry, but he had regained control of that anger. If Caulfield was his only lead, it wouldn't do any good to threaten him. "He had to hide her somewhere."

"Yes, he did, I'm sure. There must be somewhere . . . "


	47. A Fine Mess

Chapter 46 – A Fine Mess

' _It's a fine mess you've gotten yourself into.'_

That was the first coherent thought Ginny Malone had, once she'd regained consciousness. She couldn't remember every detail of what happened between her and Dusty Jackson, just enough of it to be thoroughly aggravated with herself. At some point in their struggle he'd knocked her out, as the back of her head could attest to, and tied her up. She heard the last bit of Jackson's telling her, "Behave, and I won't have to hurt you." Then the door slammed, and he was gone.

She glanced around and shuddered. She was in an old shack, bound and with a gag in her mouth. The place looked like it had been abandoned years ago; there was one small window in front, next to the door, and it was impossible to see out. Her body ached in numerous places and she knew she'd fought him; she distinctly remembered scratching his face and eyes. Where had he come from, and how could she not have seen him? She remembered enough to know that her mind had been occupied with the problems that faced them; and the recently acquired knowledge of the potential working relationship between Temperance, Adele, and Sherman. Too much worrying and not enough paying attention – and she'd paid for it with her freedom.

' _What now?_ ' she wondered. Had Jackson gotten the formulas from Bret as he was supposed to? And had he handed them off to Sherman Caulfield? Maybe that's where he was going now. She strained against the rope, trying desperately to loosen her bindings. If she could only get out of this!

Eventually she quit struggling to break free, and began trying to think of a way out. Surely the Mavericks realized by this time that she was missing, and were doing their best to find her. What if they couldn't? What if no one came to free her, and Dusty returned with a new mindset – one that dictated a different course of action? What would she do then?

XXXXXXXX

"Where the hell have you been, Jackson?"

The annoyance in the voice was unmistakable, and Dusty couldn't blame Sherman one bit. There was good reason for the lateness of the delivery, and he hoped Caulfield would understand once he heard that reason. It could be explained in two words: Virginia Maverick.

Sherman sat in silence while he justified everything – how he'd followed her to the Mueller Ranch, already suspicious of Myra. Watched her leave there and knew that the housekeeper had probably filled her head with tales of the proposed business relationship. Decided that the only way to protect the long-standing scheme was to stop Ginny from telling everyone what she'd learned, and set out to make sure she had no opportunity to do just that. He expounded on the fight; the capture; her current inability to cause trouble. When he finally fell silent, Caulfield had a question for him. "Where is she?"

"Someplace where she won't be found."

"And the formulas?"

Dusty pulled out the papers he'd gotten from the gambler and handed them over to Sherman. Caulfield breathed a sigh of relief, knowing full well that Dusty was no longer needed and his 'new' partner could dispose of his 'old' partner. The sooner the better.

"I'll let you know when the sale takes place. Don't do anything with the girl until then."

XXXXXXXX

He watched Jackson ride away from the ranch under the shelter of a secluded oak grove about a quarter mile away. The assistant foreman wasn't hard to track, and when the old, abandoned shack appeared, Bart knew he'd found what he'd been looking for. He circled his horse around back before getting too close and discovered the mare Ginny had been riding the day before.

When Dusty left the shack to get his canteen he found an unexpected surprise waiting for him. He heard the voice before he saw the man. "Take the gun out of the holster, Jackson, and drop it over here. And don't try anything, because I'm more than willing to put a bullet through you."

The gun came out of the holster slowly, but the ranch foreman had no intention of dropping it. It turned into his last mistake; by the time he'd righted the gun to fire at the gambler, Bart had already pulled the trigger on a fatal shot. It was over in an instant. His only regret was not being able to watch the man hang.

Bart was inside the shack removing the gag almost before Ginny had time to blink. She let out a small gasp, followed by a wracking sob, before regaining control. "Bart," was whispered as she was untied, and she wasted no time in throwing her arms around him.

"You alright, Beauty?"

She nodded, not willing to test her voice. She held onto him for a minute more, before pulling back with a question. "Bret?"

"Back at the estate. He's fine. Or he will be, when he sees you. Can you ride?"

Another nod. "Jackson?" was her next question.

Bart laughed, a sharp, short sound. "Indisposed. Come on, let's get you home."

XXXXXXXX

Bret sat with his arm around Ginny, and he didn't care who saw it. He'd come close to losing her, and it was only through his brother's efforts that he hadn't. Of course, it was a reasonable response; they were supposed to be married, after all. No one questioned his reaction, and he didn't turn loose of her until everyone had left the room except the three Mavericks and Adolph. Only then did he remove his arm, but he stayed next to her while the beer magnate got up and paced. Bart stood on the other side of Adolph's desk, smoking a cigar and looking mildly pleased with himself.

"Dusty was in on it the whole time, eh?"

Bart nodded. "He was Sherman's right-hand man."

"And now Caulfield thinks you've taken his place?"

"More or less. I threatened to expose him if he didn't cut me in – he thinks Bret gambled away our entire fortune, and we're in desperate need of money. And that I'm in love with my sister-in-law and expect she'll eventually leave Bret for me."

Busch still had trouble believing that the whole plot had been born of a thirty-year-old desire for revenge and, in Dusty Jackson's case, pure unadulterated greed. And then there was Adele. As Bret had unearthed when finally questioning Burnell Mueller, Adele blamed Adolph for destroying her marriage. By the time she discovered it was a misunderstanding born of Burnell's reluctance to admit he needed help, it was too late to rectify the situation and bring about a peaceful solution.

"Poor Temperance. Thinking she was going to be presented with a legitimate business opportunity. And Burnell. All that misery because of foolish pride." He shook his head. "So much useless death and destruction."

"It's not over, Adolph. We still have Sherman Caulfield to put away," Ginny reminded their employer. "The man that started this whole thing. We're not done until he's in prison."

"Or dead," Bart murmured.

"When are you supposed to hear from him?" Busch asked.

"In a day or two. I guess I should go see him, now that Dusty's been eliminated."

"Brother Bart . . . "

"I know, Bret. Be careful. I'm in no danger from Mr. Caulfield. He gets others to do his dirty work."

"Still . . . "

Bart grinned. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I need some sleep. It's been a long day."

Ginny looked up and smiled. "I agree. And Bart – "

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."


	48. The Walls Close In

Chapter 47 – The Walls Close In

"Butch, I've got a job for you to do."

Butch Henry nervously fiddled with the brim of his hat, clutched uneasily in his hands. It had been a long time since Sherman Caulfield had asked him to do anything out of the ordinary – matter of fact, it was right before Dusty Jackson from the Busch Ranch started coming by. Whatever arrangement existed between Busch's assistant foreman and Caulfield was terminated with Jackson's death. And all of a sudden Butch was summoned to Sherman's office, with the prospect of a job in front of him.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Caulfield, anything you say."

Sherman Caulfield sat behind his massive desk and stared at his ranch foreman carefully. There was a time when the thought of using Butch for a job would have come to him naturally – before Dusty Jackson had come along and proven how much more efficient he was at handling things than Butch. Efficient and smart, he used to think. But Dusty was gone now, and Sherman needed someone he could trust. It wasn't a difficult job, just time consuming. So he'd sent for Butch and hoped for the best.

Sherman explained it. Where he was to go, who he was to follow, what he was to do. When that was done, he was to come back to the ranch and tell Sherman everything. That was all – simple and uncomplicated. He was pleased to see Butch smiling when he was finished explaining. That meant his foreman understood.

"I'll do my best for ya, Mr. Caulfield." Butch Henry put his hat back on his head. The boss had just given him an important task to complete. He had no intention of failing.

XXXXXXXX

The night before had been sheer heaven, lying in Bret's arms and sleeping after they'd made love for the third time. Neither of them had said the word that was in both of their hearts; it wasn't necessary. The Pinkerton agent and the gambler had fallen in love for real, and it was evident to both of them. What they were going to do about it was another question.

"Ginny?" came the whispered inquiry.

"Hmmm?"

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for Bart to spring the trap."

A small chuckle from Maverick. "That's not what I was talkin' about."

The woman in his arms sighed. "I know."

"When this job is over . . . "

She wiggled out of his grasp and turned to face him. "We both have lives to go back to. Mine's in Denver, and yours is . . . wherever you want it to be."

Bret's turn to sigh. "It doesn't have to be that way."

Ginny blinked two or three times before refocusing her gaze on him. "I'm a Pinkerton agent, Bret. You're a gambler. We're never in one place for too long. You tell me how we work that out."

"I . . . I don't know yet. But there has to be a way." He reached out and pulled her back into his arms. She didn't resist. "There has to be a way."

XXXXXXXX

The night was long, and sometime right before sunup Bart found himself awake and staring out the window. There hadn't been too many sleepless nights while they'd been in St. Louis, and for that he was grateful. By the time he'd cleaned up, shaved and gotten dressed, a note had been slipped under his door. It was a message from Jeb Coughlin, summoning Billy Manning to the Watershed Saloon. Bart got a mount from the barn and took off towards the city.

Later that morning he was sharing a table inside the Watershed with the Federal marshal. As usual, Bart was drinking coffee; Jeb sarsaparilla. "How's it goin' with the sale of the formulas, now that Dusty's out of the way?"

"I'm supposed to go out to Caulfield's this afternoon," Bart answered, wondering what was on Jeb's mind.

"He said anything to you about the counterfeit bills?"

The gambler shook his head. "Nothin' yet. Why?"

"Just hopin' we could get this all tied up at one time. I got word there might be somebody else involved with the money."

"Are you sure? Caulfield hasn't mentioned another partner." Everything Jeb had told him so far was correct, but there'd been no indication that there was anyone else involved in the counterfeiting scheme.

"That's what the bosses tell me. See if you can get any information out of Caulfield, would ya?"

The counterfeiting wasn't Pinkerton's or the Maverick's problem – they'd only been hired to break up the gambling ring, and the threat to Adolph's precious beer formulas. Still, Bart and Jeb had helped each other any way they could, and there was no reason for Maverick to stop now. "Yep. You gonna be the one to arrest him?"

"Only if there's nobody else involved with the counterfeitin'. Mildour's supposed to handle it." Jeb set his glass down. "They're all local crimes – not federal. The chief of police knows you're workin' for Pinkerton, don't he?"

"Yep, since Temperance Mueller was murdered. Has he been cleared?"

Jeb nodded. "He has, a while back. Sorry I didn't get a chance to tell ya."

"I'll do my best. I gotta get out to Caulfield's ranch. I'll let ya know when the formulas are gettin' sold, and anything else I find out. You headed back to Redicker's now?"

Coughlin nodded. "Yeah, I was only supposed to be gone for an hour or so. Cuídate, amigo." Jeb pushed his chair back and headed for the doors; Bart finished the last of his coffee. The gambler didn't see the shadowy form watching the marshal from across the street, and by the time he left the saloon both the man and the marshal had disappeared.

Bart mounted his horse and headed toward the Caulfield Ranch. Little did he know that things were about to get more complicated.

XXXXXXXX

When Carrie White opened the door this time she found a much more subdued Bart Maverick standing there. He tipped his hat to her. "Miss Carrie, I believe Mr. Caulfield is expecting me."

She was appreciative of the courtesy and smiled at him. "Come in, Mr. Maverick. I'll tell him you're here."

Carrie was gone but a minute and gestured for him to follow her. "He's waiting for you." She led him in to Sherman's office and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Bart, I hear you found Virginia."

Bart nodded as he took a seat in front of the desk. "I did. Found Jackson, too."

Sherman smiled. "That was a shame, what happened. Who knew that Dusty had become so unhinged?"

An ironic smile creased the gambler's lips. "Who knew?" he echoed.

There was a knock on the door and Carrie came back into the room, carrying a tray with two coffee cups and a pot of coffee. She poured Bart a full cup and Sherman a half cup, left everything on the desk and turned to go. Sherman poured brandy into his cup and filled it, then took a sip. "Ah, nothing like a good cup of coffee after a job well done. I take it that Virginia was unharmed."

"She's fine. Any word on the formulas?"

Caulfield nodded his head. "Friday afternoon. The buyers will be here at one o'clock with the cash. You be here, too."

"I will." Bart drank coffee before continuing. "You haven't said anything about the counterfeit money."

"One thing at a time, my young friend. Once the beer formulas have been disposed of we can take up the other matter. There's no rush; the plates aren't going anywhere."

"I'm just anxious about cash, Sherman. Bret's creditors have begun to press me."

Caulfield chuckled. "You can pay them all off on Saturday. They won't bother you after that."

"I have to find us a new place to live. It'll be impossible to stay where we are."

That remark elicited a full-blown laugh from the host. "That's true, it will be. Well, partner, you'll have enough cash to stay anywhere you like. And a steady stream of it to follow, once we kick the counterfeiting into high gear. The Mueller Ranch is for sale, you know. It wouldn't hurt for you to be close by."

"I'll give that some thought. In the meantime, have you got any other partners that I should know about? Just in case you decide that I've become unhinged?"

"Hiding in the woods, so to speak?" Caulfield paused and refilled his coffee cup with the same half and half mixture as before. "No, my boy, I think the two of us can handle this just fine, don't you?"

Bart smiled, now knowing that Jeb Coughlin could be the one to make the arrest on Friday. "I don't think that'll be a problem, Sherman. I don't think that'll be a problem."


	49. Too Many Questions

Chapter 48 – Too Many Questions

They'd spent the morning riding around the countryside, something they hadn't done much of since they were growing up in Little Bend. Usually riding involved trying to get to or away from someplace in a hurry, and there was certainly no hurry involved today. Bart had suggested they go into St. Louis and play some poker, but Bret had something on his mind and for once he didn't think the mere act of playing the game he loved was going to solve it. He led the way most of the time, with Bart trailing behind him in an effort to keep up.

Somewhere around noon Bret found his way to a spot that looked peaceful, and convinced his younger brother it was time to stop, rest, and eat. The day was cool and pleasant, and one of the Busch's pretty little maids had packed them lunch. Bart was hungry and glad for the food; for one of the few times in his life Bret's thoughts weren't on the lunch he carried. There was too much to consider, and he wanted his brother's counsel.

"Where is your mind, Brother Bret?" Bart asked for the second time as he spread the blanket he'd brought with them. Bart could have understood Bret's distraction while all the losing poker playing was going on, but he could think of only one thing to cause it now – and her name was Ginny Malone.

"Hmm?" was the only response Bret gave. That answer convinced Bart he was right – something was going on between his brother and the Pinkerton agent that had the older gambler confused and distracted. Very few times in his life had Bret appeared quite as uncertain of himself as he was right now.

"Somethin' you wanna talk about?" was the question asked as both settled down on the blanket. An offer of food was refused, but Bart began to eat while Bret wondered just how to begin.

"You know . . . you know Ginny and I have gotten close since we've been in St. Louis."

Bart nodded his head. "A blind man could see that, Brother Bret."

"Is it . . . that obvious?"

Bart thought carefully. Was it that evident to everyone around them? Or was it just because Bart knew his brother so well? He didn't exactly have an answer for that, so he decided to reply cautiously. "Maybe not to everyone else; they don't know you like I do. But somethin' changed a while back and I saw it first-hand. She's real important to you."

Bret's eyes wandered down towards the blanket he was sitting on. "Yeah."

"So what's the problem?" Once again there was no immediate answer forthcoming. Bart waited patiently for Bret to respond; it was apparent how difficult this was for his brother. The younger brother hadn't been in Little Bend when Pappy almost died from pneumonia. Neither had he witnessed the glory of falling in love that Bret experienced, only to be followed by the agony of having that love pulled right out from under his nose while he tried to convince their father to fight for his very life. Bart seemed to fall in love almost easily; those feelings were much more difficult for Bret to experience. "Bret?"

"I . . . love her, Bart."

"I figured that." Another few minutes passed in silence. Bart finished his food and waited patiently; from the hesitation in his brother's voice he knew there was more coming.

"I want to marry her."

"You . . . you what?"

"I want to marry her."

Bart heard his brother say it twice, and he still wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. "Did you just tell me you want to marry Ginny Malone?"

Bret looked up from the blanket and nodded. "I did."

"Are you sure?" As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Bart knew the answer. Bret had that look in his eyes – those black, black eyes that Bart had looked into for so many things, most of his life. Usually when Bret looked that way there was no talking him out of it and no going back.

"I am."

"Have you told Ginny? Better yet, have you asked her to marry you?"

"Uh . . . not yet."

The younger brother laughed softly to himself. Leave it to Bret to tell his brother what he wanted before he told the woman he was in love with. "What are you waitin' for then?"

Bret cleared his throat and sounded more like himself when he answered. "There's too many questions with no answers. Too many things I don't know, Bart."

"What, exactly?"

How to explain this to his brother without sounding like an absolute fool? "I don't know how Ginny feels. I don't know if she'd even consider gettin' married. I don't know if I could stay in one place, or even if I'd want to. What if she doesn't wanna give up Pinkerton? What if she wanted me to quit gamblin'? What if . . . "

"Slow down there, Brother Bret. You're askin' too much all at one time."

"See? Too many questions with no answers."

Bret was right, there were too many questions with no answers. Unfortunately, Bart couldn't supply his brother with any, either. The only two people who could were Ginny and Bret himself. "I don't think you can decide what to do until you know what it is you want – and what Malone wants. You need to talk to her first."

"But what if . . . "

Bart interrupted. Bret still wasn't hearing him. "You can't expect to have any answers until you talk to the lady."

"What if I still don't have any?"

A small laugh escaped from the younger brother. How many times had he faced the same questions with the same lack of answers? "Then ya gotta listen to what yer heart tells ya. Ain't no other way."

"Are you sure?"

Another laugh. "Yep. I'm sure."

XXXXXXXX

Ginny wasn't surprised when a telegram was delivered to her on Thursday afternoon. She'd been expecting, as well as dreading, a wire. Ever since she'd notified Arthur Stansbury back in Denver the case they were working on was almost over. What she'd said exactly was _'should be closed within the next week'_ and what he'd wired back was _'have your next assignment in Laramie, Wyoming. Notify me when available.'_

She sat and stared at the telegram for the longest time. Her mind was spinning with unanswered questions. What was she supposed to do now?

XXXXXXXX

 _The door opened, and the sunlight streamed in and left a shimmering glow down the center aisle of the little church. He looked out into the pews and saw the familiar faces; some smiling broadly, some looking almost stunned. Uncle Bentley and Lily Mae, Pappy and Doralice, Cousin Beau and Maude Donovan. Even Dandy Jim Buckley had shown up for the occasion. Doctor and Mrs. Simon Petry sat a few rows back, with their three children, surprised at having been invited but appearing pleased to be there. Then there was the whole Walker clan – Papa George, Winnie, and her husband Will Neary, along with their twins John and Jesse, who were rapidly growing into young men. Both her sisters, Sally and Jo, with their husbands and children. An entire crowd, all come to witness something they thought would never happen – Bret Maverick's marriage._

 _Bart almost laughed. He stood tall next to his brother, serving as Bret's best man, and grinned from ear to ear. It had taken quite a while to get here, and there had been moments when he didn't think it was ever going to take place. Bret and Ginny had talked about getting married endlessly; first no, then yes, then later, until enough time had passed that later finally arrived. Bart wondered if his brother was nervous, but he didn't seem to be, and accepted that as a good sign._

 _His gaze wandered down the aisle, to the door that had opened, and realized that the bride-to-be and the man giving her away had entered the little church. Arthur Stansbury, head of the Western Region Pinkerton offices, and Ginny's boss, mentor, and father figure for many years, escorted Beauty (as Bart still called her) down towards the three men waiting in front of the altar. After all the years they'd known each other he shouldn't have been amazed by how beautiful she was, but she didn't seem to have changed at all in that time. Bret's hair might have some silver in it, along with Bart's mustache, but Virginia Malone was just as spectacular looking as the day they'd first met her on the train bound for Denver._

 _He felt Bret sag a bit against him and he quickly reached out a hand to lend support. Now was no time to grow faint of heart. "Easy, Bret," Bart crooned, and was rewarded with a straightening of the man next to him._

" _Damn, she's breathtakin'," came his brother's reply._

" _She always has been," answered Bart as he glanced out into the small crowd gathered in the church. His eyes wandered to Pappy and then quickly slid to Doralice, whose road to motherhood had just begun to show. He smiled tenderly at his wife. She was the best of him, and he was so grateful that their quest for a family had finally been answered in a positive manner._

" _Why didn't I do this years ago?"_

" _That's a good question. Why didn't you?" Bart whispered back as he turned his head toward his brother. Bret was smiling, actually smiling, and a wave of pleasure swept over the youngest Maverick. At long last Bret would know the peace and contentment that he felt every time he opened his own front door and caught sight of his bride._

" _You ready?" he asked his big brother, and he saw Bret nod._

" _You bet."_

Bart woke to the sound of someone knocking on his bedroom door. It took him a minute to wake fully, and understand that he'd been dreaming. He scrambled out of bed and pulled the door open just as Pinkerton Agent Virginia Malone was about to knock again.

"Can we talk?" Ginny asked as she began to push past him into the room, not waiting for an answer. "I really need some advice."

Bart groaned. He'd been through this once already today; he'd been hoping . . .

He pulled the door open wide. "Sure. Come on in."


	50. Somethin' Fierce

Chapter 49 – Somethin' Fierce

After their talk, Bart left the house to meet Jeb in St. Louis and Ginny went out to the barn. She needed time to think before she talked to Bret; time to clear her head and be sure she knew exactly what she wanted. And that was proving to be a problem.

Her first impulse was to have a horse saddled and ride, but after the incident with Dusty Jackson she hesitated. That wasn't like her at all, and she wondered if she was allowing her burgeoning feelings for the gambler to affect her decisions.

Instead she walked through the barn, stopping at each stall to give some time and attention to its occupant. Adolph really did have some magnificent animals, and it calmed and steadied her to concentrate on each of them and allow her mind to cleanse itself of the occurrences of the last few days.

She'd spent time with several of the horses when she heard someone else enter the barn, and realized it was Johnny Dunkirk. "Glad to see you back in one piece, Mrs. Maverick," he told her as he got closer. "Mr. Maverick was just a mess until you was found."

"He was?"

"Yes, ma'am," Johnny laughed. "Don't sound so surprised. That man loves you somethin' fierce. Anybody with their eyes open could see that. You're a real lucky lady. Hang onto him as tight as you can."

What could she say? "Thank you, Johnny. Thank you for telling me."

Dunkirk tipped his hat and kept moving towards the back of the barn. _'Somethin' fierce.'_ That's what Johnny told her, _'That man loves you somethin' fierce.'_ And just that quickly she knew exactly what it was she wanted, and what she had to do to get it. No matter how long it took.

XXXXXXXX

"That changes things." Bart and Jeb Coughlin were once again sitting in the Watershed Saloon, this time in a far corner, where everything was a lot quieter and they could actually hear each other talk. Maverick had relayed the information he'd gotten from Sherman Caulfield, that there were no other existing partners involved with the counterfeit money, and Jeb was relieved. The news allowed him to be the arresting officer on Friday, since counterfeiting was a federal crime and took precedence over the offenses Caulfield had committed on the state and local levels. Even the murder charges took a backseat and allowed the marshal to take charge of the entire operation.

"I thought it might," the gambler replied. He too was relieved, knowing that the man he had come to know and trust would be the one handling the apprehension and arrest. The St. Louis Police would be there, too, but Jeb would be in charge. Somehow that was a reassuring thought.

"What time?" the marshal asked.

"He told me one o'clock. That means I'll be there by twelve-thirty."

"Good." Jeb nodded. "I'll have everybody in place around twelve. That way if they're early . . . "

"My thoughts exactly. Agent Malone will be with you, won't she?"

"Yeah. There was no way she was gonna miss this. Y'all have worked too long and hard for her not to be included." Ginny wasn't the only one riding with the lawman, but Jeb had been sworn to secrecy by another member of the group – Bret Maverick. With Bart and Ginny both involved in the final arrest, there was no convincing Bret to remain at the Busch Estate. As a Pinkerton employee, even a temporary one, he had every right to be present. Better that his brother not be aware of that fact, however. Jeb didn't like withholding information from Bart; that left it up to him to keep Bret out of harm's way.

"I'll be glad when this is all over." Bart was worn out from all the subterfuge, plotting, and worrying, and would be a satisfied man when he and Bret could finally go somewhere – anywhere – and do nothing more strenuous than play poker. Assuming his brother wanted to go with him and not Agent Malone. He put that thought temporarily out of his mind – Bret had said nothing more to him about Ginny, and probably wouldn't until everything was resolved.

"We all will, amigo. Not too much longer now."

XXXXXXXX

Bart arrived at the Caulfield house right at twelve-thirty. While he was traveling and without being obvious, he'd done his best to locate Jeb, Ginny, or anyone else that might be with them. Either they weren't there yet or they were well-concealed. Bart was willing to bet on the latter; he had no idea that his brother was there, too, watching him ride up to the house. He would not have been happy.

Once again, Carrie White opened the door and showed him in. She was as placid and serene as ever; she'd worked for Sherman Caulfield for so long that nothing seemed to faze her. He was soon in Sherman's office, but the man was nowhere in sight. There was, however, coffee waiting for him.

Bart was in the middle of his second cup when he heard a voice he recognized and two he didn't. Caulfield came blustering through the door, followed by the men that belonged to the voices. Bart didn't know either one of them. He stood and waited for Sherman's introduction.

"Gentlemen, this is Bart Maverick. It was through him that we finally procured the formulas. Jim Fisher, Solomon Grant. Have a seat, please. Coffee, gentlemen? Brandy? Something stronger?"

Both men declined the offer; Bart pouring another cup of coffee. There were several moments of awkward silence before the negotiations began in earnest. Back and forth they went, the price climbing higher and higher while the gambler sat, almost breathless at the sheer amount of money being discussed, until the total of nearly two million dollars was agreed upon. _'Surely they don't have that_ _kind of money with them,_ ' Bart thought, but he was surprised by how much actual cash was present in the room. A 'contract' for the remainder of the payment was signed by all parties and, as arranged, two of the three formulas were handed over to Fisher and Grant. In return Sherman Caulfield received a stack of bills the likes of which Bart Maverick would probably never again see in his lifetime. Small talk was bandied about for almost twenty minutes before the two men bid a pleasant "Good afternoon" and took their leave.

Bart watched them go, well aware of the fact that there was an untold number of lawmen waiting to arrest them as soon as they were no longer visible from the ranch. Sherman and Bart sat in the office for a few more minutes, drinking coffee and smoking, until Sherman began dividing the cash into two distinct stacks of bills. When he'd finished, he handed one stack to the gambler and slipped the other into his top desk drawer. Bart seemed momentarily stunned by the sum of currency he held in his hands and only raised his eyes from the money when he heard the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.

"Sherman?" was the question he asked as he stared down the barrel of the Smith & Wesson that was aimed directly at him.

"Who are you really, Maverick? Local John Law? Federal Marshal? Cavalry? Private Detective? Pinkerton? Who, exactly?"


	51. The Retrieval

Chapter 50 – The Retrieval

It was pure instinct, but it was something he'd learned to listen to a long time ago. "Somethin's wrong. Bart and I agreed that he'd get outta there as fast as possible once the buyers were gone. He should be here by now, and there's no sign of him." Jeb was talking quietly to Agent Malone, who was giving him her full attention. Fisher and Grant had long since been apprehended and dispatched, along with three Deputy Marshals, to the Federal jail in St. Louis.

"Let's go get him," was Malone's immediate response.

"Jeb, when's Bart supposed to be here?" Bret questioned as he rode up on the pair. He saw the look that passed between the Pinkerton agent and the Federal Marshal and didn't have to wait for an answer. "You got a plan?"

Coughlin smiled somewhat ironically. The older brother was very much like the younger brother – straightforward and not inclined to waste words or time. "I've got a plan. Come with me. We're goin' in the back way." Jeb dug his heels into his mount and set off down the southern road, followed closely by Bret and Ginny. Whatever had gone wrong, he hoped they were in time to correct it.

XXXXXXXX

The answer, when it came, sounded perfectly reasonable. "I'm the same man I've always been, just a little more willing to bend the law. Why the gun?" Temporarily taken aback by Caulfield's unexpected action, Bart had regained his composure and now sat calmly in front of his 'partners' desk.

"You know why. Who are you working for?"

Bart racked his brain. What had Caulfield seen – better yet, what had he heard? Had Bart slipped up somehow? Or had something he wasn't even aware of happened? Right now it didn't seem to matter; Sherman was temporarily in charge of the situation. Still, the gambler in him wanted to know. Maybe he could figure a way out of the tangled web he found himself in. "Why don't you tell me?"

It didn't take Sherman long to answer. "Jeb Coughlin."

"Jeb . . . the cowboy that works for Redicker?"

"The Federal Marshal. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

The gambler assumed his best 'I don't know what you're talkin' about' face. "Federal Marshal? Are you pullin' my leg? I just played poker with him yesterday! What makes you think he's John Law?"

Caulfield shifted in his chair but never moved the gun or where it was pointed. Was Maverick telling him the truth? Could Butch Henry have been wrong? "He was followed. He's the law, alright. And so are you."

That's when Bart laughed. "No, I'm not, Sherman. You think I would have killed Jackson if I was the law? Wouldn't I have kept him alive to testify against you? Use your head. You just made me a rich man again. You really think I'd trade all that . . . for what? A tin star and a pat on the back?"

"CARRIE! CARRIE, COME IN HERE!"

It wasn't the first time he'd barked out an order to the housekeeper, but there was something in the tone of his voice that made her hurry into the office. It was the look in his eyes and the gun in his hand that frightened her. Bart Maverick was sitting on the far side of the desk, nonchalantly drinking coffee.

"Get Butch in here. Find him, wherever he is, and get him in here. Now."

Carrie White backed out of the office almost as fast as she'd entered and went rushing to the barn, in search of Butch Henry. She had to send one of the ranch hands out to the south pasture to find the foreman, with an urgent message to return at once. Unless Sherman Caulfield was willing to shoot Maverick without questioning Butch, all any of them could do now was wait. And, for one of them, hope for a chance to stay alive.

XXXXXXXX

"That's his foreman," Bret announced as they watched the man astride the galloping chestnut with the three white stockings. "Butch Henry. He played poker with us once, that first night we were at Redicker's bunkhouse."

"I wasn't there that night, remember? I never met him," the marshal reminded Bret. "He's in a big hurry, ain't he? Let's go find out why."

By the time they reached the Caulfield spread the chestnut stallion was tied out front and the ranch foreman was halfway across the front porch. Secreted at the back side of the barn all three dismounted; Bret grabbed the reins from Jeb and Ginny and tethered the horses out of sight. "Now what?" he asked as soon as he reached the others.

"I'm goin' around the back," Jeb announced. "You two stay here."

"No. My brother's in there. I'm goin' with you."

The marshal turned to the woman. "Agent Malone?"

She wanted to go with them but knew that somebody needed to wait here. And there was no dissuading Bret, with his brother involved. "Whatever you think's best, Marshal."

"Stay put for now. In case somebody tries to get away."

Ginny nodded and looked at Bret. There was so much to say; now was neither the time or place to say it. "Good luck."

Bret gave her a grim-faced smile and nodded, following Jeb across the expanse of land between the barn and the house. They disappeared quickly around the back of the house, and the Pinkerton agent settled in to wait – and pray.

XXXXXXXX

By the time the two men reached the house, Butch was in the midst of answering Caulfield's questions. The window was open and they could hear the exchange between the room's three occupants. Bret let out a small breath; his brother was alive – at least so far.

"How long was Maverick in the saloon?" That was from Sherman.

"Don't know for sure," answered the unfamiliar voice, the aforementioned Butch. "Followed him there and waited, but he never came out."

"What does any of this have to do with me?" Bart interrupted.

"Who did come out, Butch?" The two men outside the window heard Caulfield ask.

"Jeb Coughlin, one of Redicker's men. He went straight to the marshal's office, then back to Redicker's spread."

' _So that's what it was,_ ' Bart realized.

' _Damn, I was careless,'_ Jeb chastised himself.

' _Be smart, little brother. They haven't got proof of anything,'_ Bret thought. _'We'll get you outta this.'_

There was silence for a few moments, and Jeb managed a look in the window. Caulfield stood behind his desk, a gun trained on Bart, who was calmly sitting on the other side smoking a cigar. Butch was positioned halfway between the closed door and his boss, looking nervous and confused. His gun was still in its holster. Was Sherman angry with him? Had he done something wrong? Should he have waited for the gambler to exit the saloon, rather than follow the man now assumed to be a Federal Marshal?

"Boss, was that wrong?"

Before Sherman could answer Butch, Bart put out his cigar and asked again, "What does any of this have to do with me? I told you, I played poker with the man. I sure didn't know he was John Law."

"And I'm supposed to believe this is all coincidence? Butch, get his gun."

Butch did as asked and relieved Bart of his Colt. "What now, boss?" He was stunned by the answer he received.

"Take him someplace where he won't be found and dispose of him."

"Wh . . . what?"

"Get rid of him, Butch."

"You . . . you want me to kill him?"

Outside, Bret lunged for the window, and Jeb grabbed him and pulled him back. The gambler turned on the marshal and hissed, "Not lettin' him kill my brother."

"Neither am I," Jeb responded. "Wait."

Inside, Caulfield heard the doubt in Butch's voice. At that exact moment he fervently wished that Dusty was still alive; there would be no questioning of his orders. "That's exactly what I want, Butch."

"Sherman, you're makin' a mistake. Coughlin's the one you're after, not me. Give me the gun back and I'll go take care of him right now. Your foreman sure ain't goin' to." Bart's voice was sure, confident; the voice of a man who knew exactly who he was and what he was doing.

Caulfield hesitated. He still had no definite proof that Maverick was a lawman of any sort; what if it turned out he was wrong? That left him with no one but Butch, and the man seemed incapable of carrying out orders as succinct as the one just given. He was still trying to make a final decision when the very man they'd been arguing over came crashing through the office door.

"Drop the gun, Caulfield," Jeb ordered, but Sherman fired and got off two shots. The first one was aimed at Maverick but went wide and only nicked the gambler in the arm; the second one struck the marshal in the side as he lunged in front of Bart and deflected what might have been the kill shot. Bret fired from outside the window and caught Caulfield in the right leg; as the leg buckled and he went down Jeb's shot hit him square in the chest. Butch Henry stood frozen in place and threw up his hands when Ginny came running into the room.

Bret scrambled in through the window and ran straight to his brother, who'd already rolled over to see how badly the marshal was hurt. "Ginny, go get Doc Whatley. Jeb's gonna need him." He looked up at Bret. "I'm alright. See about Caulfield." Ginny ran for her horse, and Bart grabbed his handkerchief to help stem the blood flow from the marshal's wound. "Lie still, Jeb. Bullets still in there. Malone's gone for Doc." He looked up as Bret came back to the duo. "Sherman?"

"Dead. Let's see that arm."

Bart laughed a nervous laugh. "Told you, I'm alright. It's just a scratch." He switched his gaze to the marshal, who was wincing in pain. "Thanks for the save, amigo."

Coughlin grimaced at the familiar term. "Anytime, partner. Anytime."


	52. The Price of Love

Chapter 51 – The Price of Love

Two days later Adolph and Lily Busch were sitting on their front porch in the cooling night air. They'd been joined by Agent Malone and the Maverick brothers, as well as their good friends John and Edna McGinley and Doctor Whatley. The real story of the last few months had been explained for everyone's benefit, and Lily Busch had been profusely apologized to many times over.

"It makes me happy and sad," Lily clarified in a private moment with Ginny. "The two of you played your parts so well. You seemed truly in love with each other."

Ginny's smile grew big. "I'm sorry we had to deceive you, but it was for your own protection. Adolph had to be sure that you were safe. About the other . . . "

Lily's eyes danced happily. "I thought so. You can tell when a woman's really in love. And Bret is just crazy about you."

"Of that I'm not so sure. He may be just plain crazy." Both women laughed at the remark.

"Now, ladies. It's not nice to make fun of the mentally impaired," the youngest Maverick injected. "My brother Bret never claimed to be anything other than what he is."

Another round of laughter, before Adolph asked, "And how is the marshal, Doctor?"

Doc Whatley sat forward in his chair. "He'll be fine, Adolph, in a few days. Just as good as new. He's a lucky man, a few more inches . . . "

"I'm the lucky man, Doc," Bart corrected the physician. "If he hadn't tried to save me, there'd be one less Maverick sittin' on this porch."

"Yeah, and I'd have to explain to Pappy just exactly what happened," Bret told them. "A task I'm glad I don't have to perform."

"So what happens now, Bart?" John McGinley asked.

Bart rubbed his chin. "Now we travel with Agent Malone back to Denver. Pinkerton owes us a good bit of money. From there, who knows. I'll come by your place and say goodbye to the girls before we leave on Tuesday."

"Abigail will be heartbroken. She's been waiting for you to grow up enough to marry her," her father offered as an explanation.

"She'll be all grown up and you'll be fighting off the boys soon enough," Bart responded.

Adolph, silent for most of the conversation, spoke at last. "I still can't believe Sherman Caulfield was the cause of all the death and destruction. Temperance, Simone, Adele; even Dusty Jackson in a way. And why? Because of something that happened all those years ago."

"Just goes to show you, Adolph, what the desire for revenge can do to a man's soul." Ginny was right, and everyone knew it. "It's people like Sherman Caulfield that keep Pinkerton in business and me employed."

"Sad, but true," Doc Whatley interjected. "Well, now that everything's been settled, I'll have to go back to treating drunken trail hands on a regular basis. And I'll be euphoric to settle back down into my nice dull, boring routine. No more unexpected or unexplained deaths."

"We hope not, for your sake, Doc." And everyone on the porch laughed.

XXXXXXXX

By Sunday night everything was packed and ready to go. Bart had one last breakfast with the McGinleys, and Ginny paid a final visit to Helena Waggoner and baby Temperance. Bret spent some necessary poker playing time in St. Louis, winning instead of losing, and felt much more like Bret Maverick when he was through. The whole scenario of steady loss had sent him into a tailspin, and he was more than pleased to pull himself out of it.

Bart went to see Jeb Coughlin, who was recuperating at one of the St. Louis hotels, courtesy of the United States government. During the conversation, future plans became the topic of discussion. "We're leavin' Tuesday mornin'," Bart explained.

"Goin' back to Denver with Agent Malone?"

"Yeah, there's the small matter of some money due us. Quite a bit of money, actually. Course, not as much as Sherman offered me, but still . . . "

"At least you don't hafta go on the run to get it," Jeb offered. "Or spend any time trying to evade me or somebody like me."

"Yeah, thank God for small favors," Bart laughed. "What about you?"

"They need me in Wyoming. Somethin' about a kidnappin'."

Wyoming. Ginny was headed to Laramie. Bart wondered . . . "Heard anything about Pinkerton being involved?"

"Not yet. Is that where Malone's goin'?"

A nod of the head followed. "So she says. You might not have seen the last of her yet."

Jeb grinned. "Fine by me. Not only is she easy on the eyes, she's a damn fine agent. What about the Maverick brothers? They goin' to Laramie, too?"

"Nope," Bart answered. "Not sure what's ahead for us. Just hafta wait and see. There is somethin' you an me need to talk about, though."

The marshal sat up just a little straighter in bed and waited for the gambler to say something. It took a few minutes before Bart finally did.

"Why, Jeb? Why'd you take my bullet? I been tryin' to figure that out for days."

"Who says it was your bullet?"

"You know it was. You coulda been killed."

Jeb shrugged his shoulders. "But I wasn't, Bart."

"Maybe someday I'll be able to save your hide."

The Federal Marshal chuckled. "You never know, do you, amigo?"

XXXXXXXX

Bret and Ginny spent their last night in St. Louis with each other. Dinner at the Union Plaza Hotel, with big, juicy steaks and Ginny once again wearing her favorite dress, the beautiful green gown she'd had on the first night at Adolph's party. For once in his life Bret was more interested in the lady he escorted than the steaks they ate.

They took the long way back in the carriage to the Busch Estate; neither wanted the night to end. Once they'd returned to the house Bret suggested a walk in the moonlight, and Ginny agreed. They were quieter than normal; they held hands like new lovers and watched the moon rise high over the fields. Finally the gambler broke the silence.

"Ginny."

It took her a minute to answer him. "Yes, Bret?"

Without a sound he pulled her to him and kissed her. It was there in his kiss, as it usually was, that sense of sadness and melancholy that she first noticed the day they met on the train to Denver. But now there was something else there, too – an underlying passion, and longing, that hadn't been there before. Almost as if he didn't want to say goodbye. Almost as if . . . she tried to put it out of her mind, and just enjoy the feeling of his lips on hers, the tenderness of his embrace, the warmth of his touch. But she couldn't ignore it. Something had changed, and she had to know what it was.

When they broke apart at long last she didn't have to ask. "I love you," he told her, and everything that she'd felt in the kiss was included in the sound of his voice. Had she heard him right?

"Did you just say . . . ?"

He pulled her back and kissed her again, that same slow, passionate caress, and she was breathless by the time he loosed his hold on her. "I did," he told her. "I love you. I don't know how else to say it. I love you."

She was slow to reply, as if the spell she'd fallen under would be broken when she spoke. "I do, too. I mean . . . I love you, too. Now what do we do?"

Once more he held her as tightly in his arms as he could get her. This kiss was gentle, and tender, and full of raw emotion that loudly proclaimed that his feelings for her were real – more real than Bret Maverick had ever thought they could be. "We go to Denver. I collect my money. You quit Pinkerton. We get married."

The look of shock on her face must have said it all; he moved back from her as if he'd been pushed. "Married? Is that what you really want?"

"I want you," he told her. "I want you in my life, for the rest of my life. I don't ever want any doubts about how I feel. Yes, I want to get married."

"And you want me to quit Pinkerton?"

He heard the fear in her voice. What was she afraid of? She'd just admitted that she loved him, too. Didn't she want to be married? Slowly the haze that had descended upon his brain began to clear. It wasn't marriage that she was afraid of. It was the cost of that marriage that scared the wits out of her. It was the loss of Pinkerton right now.

"You . . . you don't want to quit Pinkerton?"

Ginny looked into Bret's eyes, into the coal blackness that resided there. Everything that she'd ever wanted was in those eyes, and everything that she'd ever feared. How could she explain it to him? "No. Not yet."

"You love the job."

"Yes."

"More than me."

"No."

"Then why . . . "

"I'm not sure I can explain."

"Try."

She winced at the pain in his voice. She'd never been very adept at understanding or explaining her emotions, but she had to try. She loved him, more than anything in the world, but she wasn't ready to marry him and leave Pinkerton – not yet. Could she make him understand why?

"Can I tell you a story? Not a story really, the truth. My truth. I was fourteen years old when I met Arthur Stansbury. Both of my parents had been killed, and I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. Arthur took me in, gave me a place to live and a reason to go on living. He made me finish school, taught me to ride and shoot, how to act and walk and dress. He was my mother and father both. I fell in love with him, and I fell in love with his great love, Pinkerton. I wanted to be an agent, to be the best agent Pinkerton ever had. I worked long and hard at it. I was well on my way, and then I ended up on that train with you and Bart, headed to Denver. You know what's happened since then.

"The closer I got to you, the more I loved you. I loved you enough to actually think about leaving Arthur behind, and Pinkerton, and spending the rest of my life with you. But there's the problem. I want to come to you with no regrets, no 'what-if's' in my life. Nothing left undone that could make me think of anything but you, and us. And right now that's impossible.

"I love working for Pinkerton, but I will give it up when the time comes. There's something that I owe them, something I promised Arthur. I promised that I would be the first Female Regional Director for Pinkerton. And I've still got a long way to go. If I quit now, Bret, I'll always wonder if I could have done it. And instead of thinking about us, I'll be wondering about what could have been.

"I can't leave now. I can't quit until I've done what I set out to do. It wouldn't be fair to you, and it wouldn't be fair to me. I love you enough to wait for us to be together, when I've done what I set out to do and I've nothing left to prove. So that there's no one in the world but you and me. No Arthur Stansbury, no Pinkerton Detective Agency, nothing to keep us apart. Do you love me that much?"

Bret still held her in his arms; now he pulled her tight against his chest so that she wouldn't see the tears that stood in those coal black eyes. He knew what it was like to want something so badly that you'd do almost anything to get it. That feeling had cost him the first girl he'd ever loved all those years ago – Mary Alice Tompkins. He couldn't let it cost him Ginny Malone.


	53. The Once and Future Mrs Maverick

Chapter 52 – The Once and Future Mrs. Maverick

They were all on the train to Denver, and nothing felt right. Bart knew something had occurred between Bret and Ginny on Monday night, but he didn't know exactly what. Ginny sat and stared out the train window, leaving her seat only occasionally, and slept where she sat. Bret chose to occupy a seat in the next car back, and neither ate nor slept. The younger brother could only come to one conclusion, and it was not a pleasant one.

More than halfway to their destination he couldn't take it anymore and sat down next to the Pinkerton agent. She ignored him until he finally spoke. "This isn't doing either of you any good. There has to be a way to work it out." He sat next to her patiently, hoping that she would answer him – eventually.

It took several minutes of silence, but at last she turned her head from the window and looked at him. Her eyes were red and full of tears, her voice quiet but steady. "There isn't."

"Tell me about it."

She shook her head. "It won't help."

"It might."

Even in her pain she had to smile. It was just like Bart, to try and take care of whatever seemed to be wrong. There was no taking care of this. Her heart was broken, and there was nothing in the world that would fix it. He looked so sad; she couldn't feel better, but maybe she could make him understand. Something she hadn't been able to get his brother to do.

"Bret asked me to marry him."

' _So,'_ Bart thought, _'Big brother actually proposed. What went wrong?'_ Out loud he questioned, "And you turned him down?"

"No," came the one-word answer.

More waiting. He wasn't the most patient man in the world, but patience was the only thing that was gonna work here. So he sat, determined to let Ginny explain without pushing or interrupting her. When she began to talk he had to strain to hear her. "I . . . I told him that I loved him, and talked about my life, starting when I was fourteen years old. And I told him why I couldn't marry him until I did something I've been working towards for a long time."

Until she . . . until she did what? "What is it you have to do, Ginny?" She turned away from him, back towards the window, before she gave him her answer. He didn't hear her. "Come again?"

"I have to take Arthur Stansbury's job, Bart. I have to be the first female Regional Director for Pinkerton."

Had he heard her correctly? Regional Director for Pinkerton? That could take . . . years. And she wouldn't marry Bret until then? No wonder his brother wasn't eating or sleeping. He'd finally found the woman he wanted to spend his life with, and she told him to wait – for how long? For something that might never happen? Did she realize what she was asking? And the worst part of it was that Ginny looked as miserable as Bret seemed to feel.

"Ginny?" No response. "Ginny, honey? Beauty?"

"What?"

"You want to explain that to me?"

She shook her head 'no.'

"If you want me to help, I have to understand."

This time the response was swift. "How can I expect you to understand? Bret says he loves me, and he doesn't understand."

Bart thought about getting up and walking away; leaving Ginny and his brother to try and work it out for themselves. He couldn't do it. The girl was miserable; his brother was miserable. He couldn't leave them both in such pain. "I love you, too, and I'd like to understand. Please." Slowly, haltingly, stumbling at first, Ginny did her best to explain to the younger brother what the older brother couldn't or wouldn't comprehend. How she felt. What she had to do. Why she had to do it. When she finished her tears had stopped and she felt stronger, more sure of herself and her reasons. There was a light in Bart's eyes, a clarity that she hadn't found in Bret's. There was a smile on his face; a tenderness in his voice. "Beauty, let me tell you about my brother and love."

The next hour was spent in deep discussion. Bart ran down the list, starting with Mary Alice Tompkins and ending with Nora Garrity. Bret's love life had been complicated and difficult. He didn't love often, but when he did he loved deeply. It had taken a long time after the humiliation of Althea Taylor for him to open his heart again, and when he truly did – he found himself competing against something he didn't recognize, but should have. The importance of a promise made long ago, a promise that held sway over one's own heart.

"He loves you, Beauty. But he's forgotten what it's like to need somethin' so bad that you'll give up almost anything to get it – includin' that love." He patted her hands, folded in her lap. "He needs a little remindin'. Don't you quit on him just yet."

"I . . . " she started to say, but he had disappeared from the seat before she could finish the thought. The next sound she heard was the door closing at the back of the car. He was gone – to see Bret, she assumed. Heaven help all three of them.

XXXXXXXX

"Bout time for you to eat somethin', ain't it?"

Coal black eyes looked up from the deck of cards for just a moment, and Bart could see the pain in them. "Not hungry," came the quick reply.

"Eat anyway." The younger brother handed over something wrapped in a tortilla that he'd bought from the Mexican Señora selling them on the platform the train was just pulling away from. Bret took the food and bit into it, willing to do almost anything to keep Bart from arguing with him. It had no taste, just like everything else he'd put in his mouth for the past two days, but he chewed and swallowed obediently, hoping it would discourage his brother from sitting down. No such luck. Bart took the seat opposite him and waited for Bret to finish.

"Now what?"

"Now we talk."

"Got nothin' to say." Stubborn, thy name is Bret Maverick.

"Let's talk about Ginny."

"Definitely got nothin' to say." Bret shifted his eyes from his brother to the window, giving the passing mountains his full attention. He fervently hoped this wasn't one of those times when his brother refused to leave things well enough alone. He quickly discovered it was.

"I know you asked her, and I know what she told you." Bart's voice was soothing, comforting somehow. He made the words sound better than they felt.

"Then you know why I got nothin' to say."

"She didn't say no, Bret."

Those black eyes shifted position quickly, staring holes through his younger brother. "Might as well have."

Bart sat still, not moving or talking, and waited until Bret turned back to the window. Then he waited a few minutes more in silence. When he finally began speaking again, it was in that same soothing tone of voice. "You remember when we was kids, all we could think about was leavin' Little Bend to go and play poker? You remember all the conversations we had, how we plotted and planned and couldn't hardly wait till we was old enough to go out on the road and make our livin' with those cards you got in your hands? You and me, that's all we talked about after momma died."

Bret never said anything, but Bart could see his shoulders shift and heard the audible sigh. Bret remembered it all too well. "Day an night, if we weren't playin' cards we were talkin' about where we were gonna go to play cards, or how long it was gonna be before we could leave. And then . . . " Bart stopped, waiting to see if Bret responded. Finally, he heard his brother's voice.

"Then Mary Alice's father got killed, an she got sent to her aunt's house in Louisiana."

Bart nodded. "That's right. And you didn't talk to Pappy for almost three months. Hell, you barely talked to me. But the closer you got to bein' sixteen and bein' able to marry the girl when she came back for the summer, the more you started talkin' about poker again. And when Mary Alice finally got to Little Bend . . . "

"I knew I had to get away from Texas, no matter how much I loved her."

"And you did love her, didn't you?"

"You know I did."

Bart remained still and let the last few minutes sink in. "But you had to go, because leavin' was somethin' you'd been waitin' your whole life to do."

"Uh-huh."

"Just like Ginny has." Bret's shoulders shifted again, and his brother was the one to sigh this time.

He could see Bret's eyes, and there was just a little less pain in them now. "What if . . . "

"Don't do that. If you hafta go your separate ways, go your separate ways. But do that still lovin' each other, and keep an open mind about what's gonna happen tomorrow, or next year. Don't throw it away forever because you can't have it all right now."

Bret shuffled the cards and turned back towards his brother. "How did you get to be so smart?"

Bart laughed and took the deck away and began dealing a hand. "By listenin' to my big brother."

XXXXXXXX

"You don't have much time, Malone. The train for Laramie leaves in an hour." So pronounced Arthur Stansbury to Agent Malone as she stood in front of his desk. "Better get a move on if you're going to change clothes before you go." He wasn't used to seeing her in a dress, and it was a disconcerting picture.

"I have to go now, Bret," she told the man standing at her side.

"I'm gonna take you to the train," Bret Maverick told her.

Bart leaned over and kissed Ginny on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Beauty. And say hello to Jeb Coughlin when you get to Laramie."

"He'll be there?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"He will," Bart answered.

"I won't be long," Bret informed his brother, who tipped his hat to Pinkerton agent Ginny Malone and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Arthur Stansbury's desk.

"You don't get to keep her forever, Arthur," Bart informed the director.

"I can see that," Stansbury retorted. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to send the two of you with her to St. Louis."

"Oh, I don't know," the gambler replied. "Adolph Busch got to keep his beer empire, Pinkerton cracked another case, and my brother and I made a tidy sum of money. What am I missin'?"

"Malone."

Bart thought about his dream and smiled. "Oh, I'm not missin' her. Somehow I think this isn't the last you'll see of Bret an me. I believe there's a good chance someday her name's gonna be Maverick, for real. Mrs. Bret Maverick."

The End


End file.
